What if … ?

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What if …?

What if the flow of unpredictable words you adore
and wait with impatience to hear,
because it comes with the language of my heart,
with the alphabet of my existence,
what if this continuous flow one day stops
and I have no more beautiful things to tell you,
no more stories of miracles to share with you?

Will you go to the first bookstore and replace my fairy tales
with a novel randomly chosen from the first bookshelf you saw?
Or will you try to find new inspiration to touch my lips with,
so I could speak to you again?

What if the brilliance, the enigma in my eyes
that you always wonder how to explain,
because it comes from a world of mystery,
from a land not mentioned in any geographic maps,
what if this secret of my look one day is gone
and I have no more potential to see you as someone special,
no more effort left to look at you with love?

Will you forget the color of my eyes and discover
new eyes to look at, in the crowd of people ahead of you?
Or will you make me see the different, non-existing side of you
and make me love you even more because of it?

What if the temptation that comes out of my body
and you put on pedestal with a triumph, ignoring our weak powers,
glorifying the first time you owned me,
what if this allurement, together with my body,
one day turns into ashes and I have no more feelings to offer,
not even a single act of care?

Will you accept the dry lust from a woman-stranger you will
accidentally meet in a bar, drunk, because you no longer have me?
Or will you read all scientific books to learn new ways to wake up
the volcano of hidden passion, buried deep inside of my body?

What if my heart that is the center of our lives,
both, mine and yours, because is connected to your heart
like a mom and a baby with an umbilical cord,
what if this heart one day choose to take a different path
and I have no more stability to comfort you with,
no more hopes and dreams to go after?

Will you stop hoping and dreaming too and take the road
to nowhere so you could forget about the memories of me?
Or will you collect in a silver jar
two drops of rain, piece of sunshine and a snowflake
and give them to an African magician to create
a new heart I can love you with again?

What if in just one day what we thought is good for us
suddenly appears not to be?
Will you surrender and accept the waste of tune with silence,
like many others did?
Or will you still stand by me and climb mountains, swim oceans,
make the impossible possible to bring it all back ?

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“What if …?” by Blaga Todorova

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© 2011  Broken Sparkles

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About the end of “Nostalgia”

I’ve been thinking a lot/ dangerous!/ since I posted part 3 of “Nostalgia” and in my attempts to write down the end, I’ve decided that some things are better left alone, in the past, where they belong. To tell you the truth, my major discovery writing “Nostalgia” was that writing non-fiction is really hard and emotionally consuming, beyond repair. I thought since I don’t have to use my imagination to come up with the actions and the words, because they already exist, it would be easy. All I needed was a creative presentation. Wrong! It takes more than creativity …

To those who wanted a happy end of the story, unfortunately, I can’t offer you one. But know, if there was a happy end in this particular story, I wouldn’t be in Greece right now, I wouldn’t have discovered the charm in learning languages. I probably wouldn’t speak English or write poetry and I wouldn’t know any of you that I’ve met through my poetry blog, so this is the only good outcome I can offer you right now.

Someone asked me years ago, how do I still have faith in love and romance, when the right question should’ve been- How many times love can take the life out of your heart before it stops beating? The answers is – as long as you have faith, your heart will always survive …

Few months ago I started a fictional story, which has the capacity to grow into a novel/ this is to answer Victoria’s question about turning one of my stories into a novel/. The winter blues and the cold had a bad effect on my inspiration and I stopped the research for the story. Since I’ve discovered that I’m a much better writer/ if I can call myself a writer at all!/ when it comes to fiction, I will continue with what I’ve started last summer. And who knows, one day there might be a book with my name on it?!?

The events in the story take part in India, so, to all readers and visitors, Indian or not, if there is anything that you would like to share about the country, interesting facts, places or traditions worth exploring, maybe books that could help me learn more about it, anything connected to India, please, feel free to share with me. There will be a page on the top right side of my blog called “Sparkles of India”, it will be a place open for suggestions, discussions, facts about India.

And to end this post, I would like to say “Thank you” to everyone that have been and will continue to be part of my blog. I sometimes don’t get the chance to return visits or find good enough words to express my gratitude or appreciation of your talents, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t notice every act of kindness and every word you create …

Love & Peace …

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“Hold my hand forever” by Sonam Mandal

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© 2012  Broken Sparkles

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In love with a poet

In love with a poet

Like stars, like comets orbiting above,
on the edge of methane and helium,
in the bliss of Jupiter’s Great Red Spot
or like fables from the past
dragging dreams, regaining consciousness,
his poetry appears unannounced, confusing me,
shamefully shading my cheeks in sanguine.
In a moment of reunion, just a smile away,
I educe (how couldn’t I?)
the nights dedicated to me, crawling desires
and candle flames enriching the air.

Those nights, so ardent once, so distant-
moments ago, dehydrated, famished
like a savage invading the breath of its prey,
those sunsets that I forgot (how could I?),
they exist like the sting of a bumble bee
guarding the honey of red clovers ,
like the simplicity in the question:
“Why did you fall in love with a poet?”.

The aftermath – so unclear, so erratic,
like the blossoms of edelweiss on Kilimanjaro’s hills
or like the waves on Dead Sea shores
struggling to cast a spell against the salt.
The answers – oh, they pierce the silence,
because in what’s written I’ve found a way
to love the Bengali monsoons and
the biting beauty of hydrogen bonds,
because in his words about storms, about
darkness and forlornness lingering with passion,
the inevitable gave me a heart …

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"Petals" by Sofie Faulkner, courtesy oraine.wordpress.com

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© 2011  Broken Sparkles

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