About the Calling

About the Calling

I woke up before the Sun and followed the calling of the waters,

I lingered and let my hands shake with the songs of the dolphins,

I dived deep into the waves for words,

I held my breath for hours and gathered them like pearls,

My precious obsessions.

When I came back to myself

I walked the shore line slowly, up into our mountains,

I approached the white house with its majestic white walls prolonging the cliffs born out of the ever black sands and

I saw you,

My lost poet, diving into your waves.

You,

Eternally young into your old age, as your hands, as the ancient walls enclosing you, as the shores of the Atlantis calling back its God Kings, as the love of our freedom fortress,

You,

My undiscovered poem,

Sitting in the middle of the smallest of rooms, where you sometimes make me lay naked and just look at all my lines saying your name only,

But you hear more and beyond that,

You,

My forever verse running through my blood without an end,

You,

Surrounded by your books, never touching, but burning everything with your quiet, calm, all knowing eyes,

Waiting,

You,

The healer of these cliffs and rocks and seagulls,

In front of the sea of words flying out through the window from under your fingers,

As mine flew from under mine,

You,

With the same hands that touched my hair and my lips, reaching for your pen,

The same that gave birth to me on your pages,

And you on mine,

You,

My unfinished story for which I keep on seeking, keep on searching for my truest of me, keep on coming back to every summer,

You,

Sitting in a serene storm above me, hearing my steps walking your song,

While I watched you in despair,

Then and now,

Knwoing that your story is there under your lashes just as you believe mine is,

I hear it crawling down on the sunburn walls towards me,

And mine climbing up, reaching towards you,

The unspoken lines come and come to life inside of me,

To take me to you and

Sit me in front of your hands so that you can see clearly

The story that, unlike me, you always find its end,

You always know and finish it,

Sometimes on your pages

Sometimes on my skin,

You know what word comes next,

Even after I scream your name,

You,

You always know and write its calling.

M.

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About Our Journeys

I had dreamt about you in all my dreams taking me back to the shores of the black sand

Where you had your home and knew what that meant…

You took me

Through all the tall rooms whose heavy walls were filled with art

Dreams, wings, colors, words, skins,

Touches, galaxies, whispers, ideas, truths,

And when you asked me which one I would pick to spend my eternity in

I found myself picking yours under your all knowing eyes and young smile

Because we both fell inlove with the same blue contours,

The same forevers,

Same skies,

Stars,

Eternities,

It was only after my choice that you told me your real name and took me to the desert under the clear, never falling stars

One more of your many journeys to teach me about the only feeling that has ever defeated me,

Patience,

And all the steps you took to get to me, all the touches you patiently placed on my skin to get inside of me have always stood above all the words you spoke to get into what you treasured the most,

My mind,

And so with you, I have slowly learned,

And changed the way the worlds were spinning until the moment we’ve tied the galaxies together into the knot of the most beautiful story ever written,

And now I know too,

Home is everywhere under the Sun now,

And under your hands.

Always.

M.

About the Island of My Storyteller

About the Island of My Storyteller

My memories all live in the shape the smell of your skin takes.

Today you came to me with the smell of boiling, forgotten coffee on an island where the Sun never sat.

Your voice called my name over and over again in my dream and woke me up on the terrace where we slept together while the black cats watched us from the mountain behind our house.

We laid under your eternal Sun and dreamt of us in all the other thousand seasons on the other distant island up on the tower of us whose lights turned red and green once a year.

That was our home, and on its colorful terrace you asked me if I knew what the world looked like without ever having the Moon in its skies. I laughed in disbelief, as I always did,  before I became your worshiper and knew the religion of your hands on me,

On the island where the forever glowing lights caressed us when the day’s invisible stars sat and whispered on my naked shoulders that there is no night and no end of us,

That nothing real can ever be threatened or taken away.

 

M.