Inside the heart of a poet

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The New Year came with fireworks and promises ready to be fulfilled. This is my first post for 2012 and I want it to be made out of beauty, I want those broken sparkles that I carry to start this day, this month, this year with a smile and a touch of artistry. May you all keep a piece of this post in your hearts and savor it through the 52 weeks of 2012 …

 

Poetry

by Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age … poetry arrived
in search of me. I don’t know, I don’t know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don’t know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others, among violent fires
or returning alone, there it was, without a face
and it touched me.

I didn’t know what to say, my mouth
had no way with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something kicked in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering that fire,
and I wrote the first, faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense, pure wisdom
of one who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw the heavens
unfastened and open,
planets, palpitating plantations,
the shadow perforated, riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, tiny being,
drunk with the great starry void,
likeness, image of mystery,
felt myself a pure part of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose with the wind.

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Music for the heart, poetry for the soul.

Images- a celebration for the eyes- by my very dear friend Sonam Mandal/ DeadPoet/.

May you all have a beautiful and blessed 2012!

Love & Peace

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© 2012  Broken Sparkles

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Poets of the fall

Poets of the fall

Years from now,
the grief of the autumn leaves
will lead you to the crypt of
an origami, paper crane.
Under the obsolete dust,
where red plumeria once grew,
there will be a tale of ebony hearts.

Carved in the words of a script,
flashbacks on the edge of omission
will let you in on secrets
about crippled fantasies,
about a kiss and a gaze at the stars
that could turn the gray daylight
into an ivory moonlight.

The wind doesn’t need to know
how like lovers of the summer we held
the last drops of sultry bruises,
the rain doesn’t have to remember
how like poets of the fall we kept
the candle lights on our lips, because
destiny gave us the clarity of the dawn.

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"Crane" by Sonam Mandal

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© 2011  Broken Sparkles

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Standing tall

Standing tall

Can you agree blindly with laws and regulations
or balance crawls into the breath of heaven?
Imagine you can break the cold of the glass,
will you still go with “must do” and “have to avoid”?

Do you search for the line where the heart stays open
or the soul is immortally adjusted to canons?
And if you remain there for the rest of the night,
will you let in intimacy and ultraviolet lights?

Is there a map for the road from rules to freedom
or you endeavor friendship between passion and reason?
Do you invite them to the same table for a drink?
Aren’t they enemies, two opposite directions, north and south?

Does logic harm you inside or love heals the blues of the dawn?
If they enter the front door, will they sleep on the floor?
And if there is nothing left, but red peppers, wrapped in foil,
will you follow the routine, or will you learn the art of standing tall?

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"Art of standing tall" by Sonam Mandal

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© 2011  Broken Sparkles

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