A Birthday Song

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Zulejka snuggles up in your warmth
He has found a nice spot for the night
His paws make scratchy sounds on the bed sheet

In the vaporous light of your laptop
You turn into a folklore —
A distant memory draped in blonde curls and cat fur

Tigers roam your mind
Turtles and bears speak your tongue
A cool breeze of a clean earth lives inside your heart

You lay wide-eyed
With the half-smile of a hopeless romantic
While Time stands still to get lost in you

Someday
On the shores of Vltava
I will join you to watch the swans in the sunset

But tonight, in this briefly magical moment
I’m the robin knocking at your windowsill
To whistle you a birthday song

PS: Tonight is the birthday of my muse and I thought of writing her a birthday poem.

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Bodies

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My body is mine but it is not me
Your body is your best weapon
We stand at the bedside
As our bodies dismantle and reassemble in the middle
Spiraling like two colliding galaxies
Hurling matter at each other

We float mid-air in the ripples of life
Two writhing bodies; fused, fermented —
In those brief moments of weightlessness
I wish I could drown into you
Never to rise again
Never to be apart

I love you
I truly do
But I would die for your body

About the featured artwork
Audrey With Toes And Wrist Bend, 2011 by Nadav Kander

At first glance the image of Audrey With Toes And Wrist Bent (2011) (see image above) by London based artist Nadav Kander looks like a painting, thanks to the rich and luxuriant surface of the work. In fact this work is a photograph and the effect was created by covering the sitter’s body with white marble dust, suggestive of the figures in marble friezes across classical buildings. The pale body and twisted limbs reference the work of 19th century painter Sir Frederic Leighton.

Sourced from www.anothermag.com

Heliosis

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The ladybird disappears under a pile of leaves
Silence magnifies its footsteps
I trail the beetle’s escape
Down to the handmade jetty at the pond
Where the water-weed swirl like soba noodles

Memories of your red shoes
Burn like a dying star
I hit the blunt
And speed into the intergalactic overdrive
To count the seeds of your sadness

In this balmy summer evening
Between heliosis and anhedonia
Life appears to be too human
Where lovers are fossils of a defunct movement
Still hoping for an unlikely reprise

Featured artwork: Nordic Summer Evening, c. 1889 by Richard Bergh

Trams

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I like trams
There is something strangely romantic about them
As if those moving boxes on metal wheels
Take you to nostalgia by default

I lived many lives in trams
From the days when they were pulled by horses
To the joyrides in Vienna before sunrise
From the rainflooded streets of Kolkata
To Prague castle in the night
I have witnessed moments of freedom
When walls came down and people hugged
I have been many faces

Trams
They are magical places
Where love blooms
And ailing hearts find solace in entangled kisses

Featured artwork: New Orleans by Pompo Bresciani

Rainscald

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My eyes follow the downward trajectory
Of the two stray droplets of rain
Chasing each other
On the side window of the speeding car
I am curious to find out
If they would kiss or shy away from each other

The railroad crossing is closed
In this opportune moment
Mist gathers around my window like a temptress
I get down to follow her bare feet

There is an empty graveyard shielded from the now
By a broken wall and a rusty gate
I spot an old Morris Minor
Or the fossils of it
Shrubs have made it their food
This is clearly a story untold
Waiting to be exhumed from the shadows of time

In their last bid for progenies
The cicadas hum acappella in this untimely rain
Deep in their tiny hearts they know
Tonight they will all die
A truth that is lonelier than loneliness

And suddenly
In a tiny ball of sadness
They all come back to me
All that I loved, those I loved
I loved alone
But they say love is a verb without a past tense
There is no such thing as ‘loved’
For loving once is to love forever

The train never arrives
The rain does
I let it pour over my shoulders, my arms
With a frail hope to be cleansed

Image sourced from www.mnn.com

Aleatoric

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Last night
After I turned the lights off
It rained
And fishes drowned under the weight of water

Rouzbeh came to visit
His words bled colours
As his moustache danced and spoke
My room smelled of unicorns and hollow rainbow

And I said
God is an infant
He soils diapers
It’s Nature that’s wild and just —
Every man has a right to be happy
Every woman has a right to make him sad

Note: This poem was conceived entirely in an actual lucid dream at the early morning of 07.30.2017 and presented here without changing a single word.

Photography by Huseyin Sahin

The 21st Cemetery

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Picked up the newspaper
It was wet with blood and hatred
Rape, murder, suicide bombing

Logged on to the social network
It was littered with insecurities
A perpetual desire to appear cool

Seven billion puppets, bereft and bankrupt,
Gnawing on the bare bones for the need to love
To be loved, nurtured, forgiven

This is the 21st cemetery
Where darkness lives in unlikely places
And depression plagues the sewers

But we can be different darling
We can be the light
We can dance till the morning and outlast the night

Photography by Joshua Hoffine