The heart

“Love is not written on paper, for paper can be erased. Nor is it etched on stone, for stone can be broken.
But it is inscribed on a heart and there it shall remain forever.”

* * * * *

The heart

At first it was just flesh and blood inside her body,
surrounded by ribs, colored in crimson
and covered with skin,
or other wise said pump-like organ of blood circulation,
composed of rhythmically contractile muscle,
located in the chest, being there
simply to beat and to keep her alive.
Then she met him and the crimson, pulsing muscle
became the center of her emotions,
the innermost of her spirit,
giving her wings to join the stars and the moonlight.
Now it’s called “the heart” or what’s left of it,
ice, slowly turning into water,
soon to evaporate and leave her with pale dreams
and nothing to say about the secrets of love.

`

“The heart” by Blaga Todorova

~

© 2012  Broken Sparkles

`

Velvet shadows

Velvet shadows

When the valley curves in lavender
under the twilight blood, I fear
that the stardust of your eyes
will remain forever in my veins,
to tarnish the knot of brittle dreams,
keeping the monsoon clouds away.

When the last words vanish, nebulously,
behind the metal doors of pain,
I know, the adieu will flutter,
dying dismally on my lips and
only the fragrance of your kiss
will hold distant the ocean of sins.

And when the echoes of the dawn
find me alone, with drizzling heart
over the ink in the letters of your name,
I wish I could save the piece of moonlight
over the velvet shadows of laughter and
ecru, rose petals that you gave me.

* * * * *

“Velvet petals” by Blaga Todorova

`

© 2012  Broken Sparkles

`

Where love was first born …

Where love was first born ..

It was one of those starless nights
when the lack of hope left me counting
waves on an imaginary bay in Bengal.

No goldfish could lead the way
to the phosphorescence of the dawn,
no drops or breeze could twist the claws
of the Coral trees, infinite silence.

It was the tide that spoke first
through long lost, jade bottles,
when shadows of lust sat near by,
to warn me, that the colors of my dress
will never match the desire in his eyes.

The sky stunk of loneliness,
of invisible hearts and grieve, and
the thought of couples walking on a beach in Goa
was the only painless flashback left.

It was a night in a loveless universe
where in between whirlpools and teal wind,
crippled from the eclipse demons,
lost the battle with the indigo veils of the sea
and the promise of the coming morning
no longer had the taste of sorrow.

The after- dusk clouds, the mermaids,
the ghosts of shipwrecks skipped the sunrise
because once the light triumphed over
the satin sand, I saw the footsteps,
blazing a trail to the edge of sweet madness,
where love was first born.

* * * * *

“Where love was first born” by Sonam Mandal

`

© 2012  Broken Sparkles

`