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.

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Tian Shan’s beauty

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© 2013  Broken Sparkles

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Untitled love

Untitled love

it’s inevitable how love refuses to part
with the sunset over the Aegean blue,
it’s unsettling to follow my shadow
wandering between pebbles and sand,
maybe because in your eyes
I see a way to escape the wind shears of life,
maybe because holding me in your arms
feels desirable and right
or just because I realize that
the crumbling snowflakes
are nothing more than ivory- satin stars
triumphantly spinning,
eventually ending the pale mornings.

And it’s hard to resist your kiss
when I’m falling in love,
it’s hard to forget that
there isn’t anything as delicate,
as dazzling,
as solemnly divine
as the dainty sounds of a crispy night,
with bodies drifting back and forth,
like carbon fibers lit
in a game of clouds and flames,
in burning Shangri-la.

and the sudden bells of vulnerability
have no faces, no names,
just sweetness that I want to grab,
grasp, cuddle and squeeze
every last taste of it.

I look at your face and
I am blithely content
in the silence of your presence
but in my veins, in your veins,
oceans gather
all those under water, echoing swirls,
which toil over our holding hands and
I thank the darkness for letting me so near
to the light of your world,
I close eyes in worship
just before every whisper goes
blind and senseless,
just before I find home
in the beauty of stubbornly, teal flowers.

and I wish I could freeze
the phantom of love,
to isolate our breaths,
our first touch
in a lonely equation of space,
surrounded by Damien’s Hirst
butterflies and roses,
where Neruda’s words are
the beats of my heart and
they never stop the gallop
in the tunnels leading to your heart,
they never escape
the stream of Cupid’s arrows,
and river flows in you, in me,
in the Universe,
and rain sparkles everywhere,

because it seems that
I exist only
in the candled lightnings of your smile,
holding fragrance and violets,
and the lullaby of feathers and violins.

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Damien-Hirst-Requiem-White-Roses-and-Butterflies

“White roses and butterflies” by Damien Hirst

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© 2012  Broken Sparkles

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Dust of broken sparkles

“I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest.

I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.”Pablo Neruda

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Dust of broken sparkles

Strange silence drips over the fields with love
and as soon as I see how time curls
around scented flesh and sweaty curves,
bruised lips and skin let out fires
over ice cubs and jasmine oiled hands.
As soon as I become one with the whiteness
of the walls turning crimson, satin and mirrors speak
the language of silver fleur de-lys and ripe grapes.
You, the wind that makes the sunset glow,
and I, the first flower of the sunrise,
how can I keep you, how can you own me?
While we move under the music of illusions
and swear in the life of leftover senses,
the dust of broken sparkles sweeps the night.

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“Bodies and dust” by Anton Surkov

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© 2012  Broken Sparkles

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