There comes a time …

“That’s why Monday, when it sees me coming with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline, and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel, and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the night.” ~ Pablo Neruda, Walking Around

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There comes a time …

There comes a time, I’m tired of stories-
feckless, empty, of daydreams without
blithe ends, sulfur- colored, collapsing,
supple under lachrymal gliding in a sea of ashes.

I’m in here, trapped and fatigue, inside a bygone maze
and the spice of brutally cold walls stops me pretending
that I believe in amity miracles and love flowers,
a lifetime collected in a crack of agony.

There comes a time, I’m tired of thinking,
my dark heart and my even darker silhouette,
they are just fallen rebels in the lost era of butterflies.

And it would be good if I could learn to fly again,
in the middle of the night, through medieval châteaux
or through roof tops of avant-garde skyscrapers.
But it will be all the same, because
it so happens that I’m tired of wearing a mask
and the mornings burn with moistureless creativity.

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Moistureless creativity

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© 2013  Broken Sparkles

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Tian Shan beauty

For Kavita

“Tulips are often associated with the Netherlands, but commercial cultivation of the flower began in the Ottoman Empire, comprise many species that together are indigenous to a vast area encompassing parts of Asia, Europe and north Africa. The tulip’s centre of diversity is in the Pamir, Hindu Kush, and Tian Shan mountains. The word tulip is ultimately derived from Persian and it means ‘Beloved’. In Persia, to give a red tulip was to declare your love. The black center of the red tulip was said to represent the lover’s heart, burned to a coal by love’s passion. To give a yellow tulip was to declare your love hopelessly and utterly.” /References- Wikipedia-to read more, press Tulip/

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Scattered under the whirls of Tian Shan’s snowflakes,
Enthroned with the empyrean peace of the mountains,
Drifting into tints and dreams,  they stand,
Picturesque, as the glow in lovers eyes.
And smile at ghosts and mistrals, and lens-shaped clouds,
They channel the lives of rivers and rowans,
Myriad psychedelic blossoms glance at the non-existing sun
With the hope, one day to be found.

* * * * *

Tian Shan’s beauty

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© 2013  Broken Sparkles

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A sea kiss sent to Colorado Hills

It’s strange how the sunrise holds the sound of violins and words, those words and violins that died drowning in rain and tears, and listening to David Garrett  brings only smiles, where the eyes and the moon tremble sleepy and dazzling, and you and I, we are only imaginary waves in the sea, following the reckless glow of poetry …

Dedicated to the man with opinion!

Aegean sunset

Standing beautiful

Gone withing diamond hours

Lonely in Winter

Virgin and astonishing

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© 2013  Broken Sparkles

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