Three

Three

That you’ve been gone from me,

A time without time,

Returned to where there is no night, so that you can show me the light still,

The white albatross of the dark matter that holds everything together,

The eternal galaxy of my pages,

The eyes I have for seeing people’s hands, the way they carry their years on their fingers,

Their deppest stories before their dreams,

Before their eyes.

You went but took none of the joy you taught me,

You, the life of my words and all the words of my life.

M.

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About the Rebirth

About the Rebirth

The ocean pushed the shores apart, and left the island of us half way into its Nordic waters.

On the highest peak of its snowy mountains, in the house with a metal window shaped as a rose,

Between the tall endless walls reaching towards the sky where the shivers of the storms grew from under your feet,

You stood alone and naked between the life given white sheets of your pages.

I watched you silently, we both knew the time had come.

Your pen lost a beloved ink tear on the paper and it turned into a bird.

You showed it to me and said it was a mirror.

It flew and sang across the world’s waterfalls,

The song of freedom of being tied to your wrists with the string of ego, awareness and desire.

My journey.

You opened the rose window and told me to follow.

I was once her.

I ran behind it at first, on its notes turned into my words, I sang and wrote

In the same dots that grew together in the song of revival.

I felt a heavy pain on my back,

My wings started growing and with them,

Peace.

I flew above the world for years, and the mirror that was waiting for me back on the island became the clear eyes that guided me above my stories.

With that new cleanness and strength,

On my return,

I wanted to be tied to you and lay with you in the never touched fresh plains of the world.

But there was no more lostness.

Truth was dripping from the branches of the first buds of the fifth season

And I gathered it and drank it and turned darkness into light

Which we used to lit the windows of strangers’ cages while we flew on the streets of the world.

“We are all born to fly, but we must fly alone into what is ours…” was what you said to all of them in a whispered prayer that I knew so well.

As we witnessed birds, thousands of birds singing in the skies

I always, always grabbed your hands in despair of the memory of my moment and my first breath,

The birth of my meaningful wings.

It was then that I loved both life and death to tears because they both meant drowning, flying, dancing above the edge of the purple stars

From where we watched others journeys into their calling.

Yours words were your music and your softest music laid heavily on my eyelids in the second before I woke, When over and over again I dreamt my liveliest poem:

The glowing magical hand of reality on my forehead, the shadows telling the stories from under my eyes,

The Universe’s oldest dream realized only after I had found myself,

The big and only love of a lifetime.

M.

About My Creator

About My Creator

In the beginning, when you crafted me on your wrist, I have walked on thin clear waters outside the blue layer that holds the globe of light,

Suspended into darkness,

Gentle as the silk that lets me sink into you and drown into you, into your mind, the breath of life I needed sleeplessly, desperately

In the seeking, torturing heavenly shadows your eyes carry on their lashes, stories that fall onto your naked skin for which I dive deep into the waters of the journey you had written for me,

The one that hypnotizes me into a delirium of the only golden infinite universe I remember each time you walk under our sun,

A bit longer than the first second, a bit shorter than the whispering frightening thought of us lost between people,

Where I linger on your lines of your shoulders stretching the wings of time into me, pleading to take me back into our solitude

Where I fall into joy, flowing above the spirals of stardust, the neverending ones you have sprinkled with your fingers when you built the world in the middle of the sea

Where I fall asleep on the music of the silver whales taking our story deep into the oceans of the galaxies not known to men,

It is all life, it is all creation, it is all but one word that births the others, When you bring me to life on a storm that the eye has never seen, outside the thin waters,

Where you heal me and seal me into the cosmos I always return to with the same joy I felt when I opened my wings

And was reborn into my seventh life of a scream of poetry on your red wrist,

The lines of the first spark of life

In one word.

Now.

M.

About Abel

About Abel

There are seven spirals leading to the mountain overseeing the ancient untraveled road on the other side of our island.

You took me there on a deserted Sunday morning, while our steps hummed the hymn of wilderness under our pens.

The heavy bells of the white churches sent their echoes to us on the wings of the old seagulls who flew above us in complicity.

When we reached the peak where the road turned into purple sand under our feet,

You said that there was one more story I needed to hear before walking to the forbidden hidden city built on the cliffs whose keys to its gates you had kept buried deep under the cellar of our white house.

The sand stuck to my skin as I laid in silence and listened to your words, they formed the feathers of a fallen angel on my back and we got a little bit older as we cried and laughed and learned with the end, as you always did.

After you kissed me, one kiss for each of my years, you pushed the clouds aside and showed me the sights of the thousands of years and kings who had come before us and left their treasures on the altars of the city whose gates could only be opened with the truth.

We walked on those fragile steps and stood above the sky drowning into the blue waters,

You took out a secret map and showed me the way not known to those who walked the spirals without purpose, without searching for meaning, for words, those who walked their days without a desperate love for freedom,

Like we always did.

We sat above the waves and shapes And waited for the night to cover us before taking the long road into the stars.

We reaches the fortress and you showed me the altar you had built for me, on those late nights you walked in the mountain by yourself and I waited for you with the cold warm breeze of my solitude.

You asked me to put a stone up for each of my loves.

Time descended on my shoulders as I went back into my journeys and happiness and sorrows next to the altar facing the eternal sunrise.

We sat with the Moon and talked in short stories like short prayers, one for each stone,

A smile and a tear for each,

The ones who were gone, the ones who had stayed and the ones who had brought me there on the highest peak of the oldest mountain of Atlantis, over the bluest of waters and our roof,

Into your arms which, when we started walking back, as the sun was rising,

Turned me around and bathed me in the heat of the whispers of my loves and stories who had built me.

I looked at them and held you close

The last of my stones of my new life,

And I cried and laughed and learned with this end, as I always did.

“All of them were lord”

M.

About Her

About Her

I stepped out into the dark and cold to search for the endless winds of the Sun,

The only ones I believe could bring you back,

The ones I have been dreaming and following for so long into my long lonely journeys.

They came in waves as if they had been following me too and asked me to step into the sea of my own thoughts,

Without fear of the past,

Into the most beautiful ones I have kept with me ever since you have held me in your arms,

On the shore of their timeless waters which you have colored with your words.

All was light, it was spring and the streets were sparkling under the waves and under my feet,

I was running up towards you,

Towards the white house whose walls knew our history,

It was raining with white flowers from above,

I heard your voice from all the skyes into which you set sail long ago,

You had returned.

We were on a tall bridge above the waters making paper butterflies,

I wasn’t scared and the waves did not grow dark,

I heard your voice,

All was clear blue like the skyies of your eyes from which you send me a story from time to time,

A story in a few words that

Helps me see clearly, helps me smile, helps me believe and find my way back from my lonely journeys,

I dived deep and carelessly into the seas and skies and streets,

There was no rush, just like you said:

“There is still time… There is still time”

And I knew that as I swam and flew above the world,

Always looking back into your eyes,

The eyes of kindness that have pireced my skin and made me the Queen of Time and Fairytales.

M.

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 om my skin,

You know what word comes next,

Even after I scream your name,

You,

You always know and write its calling.

M.