Yours, poetically. Soar .

the life of a Pi, with no rules but the sky.

      I wonder if you fancied your stars

      In times of hated deserts with wolves to dance around

      And if, among your prances, you saved for them true kisses

      Like cinema paradise.

      For I was afraid to ride

      When I approached your mane of fire

      And showed you innocence entangled in courage

      With only the skill of confidence as knowledge;

      You gaze at me out of your heartbeats’ stampede

      Roaring like lions in fierce defeats

      Hungry for more in your sweetest fights

      You pause and whisper: “Love me, start now.”

       (February 2013)

      Poetry

      Poetry is beautiful

      A debonair flaneur veiling feelings

      While mirroring them boldly –

      Silent words coming to life, always differently

      At the end of their meaning

      Grasped by stranger eyes

      Who label them with own experiences.

      Poetry is music as a trope

      Putting emotions in the notes

      Forgotten by the stave in its theory

      And then it fashions itself to acclaim distorted harmonies

      Displaying a hot attire with elegance

      Seen as unique for its tailored creativity

      With paramount details without accessories.

      Before such exquisiteness, wordy prances are not needed

      Nor tunes of pastiche melodies

      For one can find the definition of your being

      And feel your spirit imprinted-

      Words begetting passion within

      Music pacing breathing

      You are poetry. You are beautiful.

(July, 2011)

      Rewind

      Somewhere, where space regains its trace

      Where realities and fantasies intertwine

      And whys turn into wows

      There reigns an orchid in full bloom

      At the windowsill of life.

      She’s white and begets tender sprouts

      Balming the air with flavours of a true kind

      Like a loyal soldier in armour of trust

      Keeping a love safe from the outer harm

      With the seed of care germinated inside.

      Her utmost view is a wooden bed of silence

      Where her perfume wraps his shape in reverberating hues

      Promising warmth to emanate

      Whenever feelings are embraced

      By meanings immersed in their plain eloquence.

      And when the day falls for the night stars

      The frail white turns into blush

      For there, a girl pampers a boy in tears

      To purify in values reality’s charred marks

      To dry his eyes with her own sun.

      Above fading vistas where clocks lose their flair

      Time constantly rewinds its antiquated track

      To a forwarded point of the same crystalline beliefs

      Where an orchid rests her fantasies upon a silken bed

      Giving her blossom’s breath to scent the universe.

(December, 2011)