The Carnival

The sun stared at her but she did not stare back, not for lack of trying, she loved the sun but it was just too bright. The light did hurt her eyes, so she bowed her head and looked down at the uneasy ground deciding to hate it forever. The heads of people were coming and going under her feet, of every color and kind, the blond, the red and the brown, the short and tall, the small and the ones she was sure were full of themselves. She did not focus much on the faces, nothing interested her anymore. She knew them without even having to look at them, the man laughing with his family with eyes full of worry if he’ll be able to pay for the next ride and dinner as well, the teenage girl with blushing cheeks and the boy who’s trying to impress her with a stuffed animal and a fake flower and the children who were constantly staring at the ripples of her rainbow colored dress. They were the worst, because they would stare and only see the colors and the white painted face but not her, never her. Sometimes she hears little girls shouting out to their daddies that they want to paint their face white like the lady up on the wooden wheel and dress in all the colors of the world like her. In the carnival, she thought, everyone wants to dress up in as much color as possible, trying to experience life in everything however small, so they go on expensive rides that will make them scream and take pictures with bizarre faces and figures they know are nothing but fakes, only humans dressed up in custom, but they don’t like to think about that in the moment they take the picture, no one wants to take a picture with the community college drop-out in a clown suit. Of course not, that person only exists to himself, for in the carnival your custom is who you are.

And she was in a sea of the colorful ripples at the tail of her dress, with stripped stockings slender all the way up to her thighs and ribbons of red and gold hanging from her waist, her breast and her hair. Her place was higher than those who walked by, yet no one looked at her like she is some sort of queen or the owner of anything, not even the wooden wheel she was tied to at four limbs. For all they knew she was a slave for that piece of wood, with nowhere to shield her from the cloud’s breeze or from the sunlight, with nothing to do but to wait for the next gentleman to stop by and play her game. That was her corner, her role in the endless horizon of laughter, chattering and mindless screams, and she did not run it nor did she want to be a part of it, but tied at four limbs by his chains, there was nothing she can do but avoid the sun’s glare.

The owner of her corner was the devil in the suit of a man, who believed she had no will to fight anymore. He should know, he was the one who exhausted her to this state, not without her help of course, and he made her into the pretty obedient doll she is now. When he first saw her, he could see it in his mind, her voluptuous body up on that wheel spinning her wits away, waiting for the gents’ knives to fly towards her. He longed for the anticipation in her eyes to where the knife will hit her every time a man raises his arm to aim. As he collects the gold and stands shouting for more. He would shout for more to see her suffer, he thought, he would do what it takes to get her up on his wheel.

She was just another girl passing by, and she was alone, dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, anyone but this man could have easily missed her. But those girls, invisible to their surroundings, were his cup of tea. They lived in their private worlds when no one else accepted them in theirs and he enjoyed tearing through the meaningless smiles and polite nods to the creatures inside, beyond the young sparkle of their eyes. And he had many ways, being in the suit of a man. Because all those invisible girls had one thing in common, they were dreamers. And dreamers, as greedy as they are, would have all life at their command if they could. And what is more appealing than the promises, the touches and assurance of acceptance from a great man. He did all what he can to bring out the beast inside them and show it to them, flash it in front of their weary faces and shatter all what they knew about themselves, all what they were made to believe they are, just comes tumbling down.

Then, it’s time for a last choice, either they live with their new versions of themselves and what knowledge they have learned about the hideousness of their souls, or they accept his offer of redemption from the guilt and sin with just a simple game they have to play with him. They would let him paint their faces in white and their lips in bright red, then he will dress them in such a colorful dress that replaces how boring their white t-shirts are. And then they should just climb upon a wooden wheel voluntarily as he ties their limbs with chains that are instantly tight enough that they hurt. And then he would spin the wheel and they would get in a drunken state from that spinning, so when the men would come to aim their knives trying to hit their eyes, hearts and their beautifully sprung legs, they would not feel a thing at all. It will only feel lighter in their bodies and their souls with every drop of blood that oozes out, as each one takes away little parts of their sins.

Then he would scream at the top of his lungs ‘’Behold, gentlemen’’ to the people coming and going to seek life in the colors of the carnival. ‘’The best way to unleash your inner hunter, to aim at a pretty woman’s heart. Five points if you aim it at the glide of her waist, ten if you pierce her high riding breasts and fifty points if you take out one of her emerald green eyes.’’

And men would come in in groups, laughing and giving their gold to the devil willingly. Competing to see who is the best hunter, to see who is manly enough not to care for a woman’s flowing blood, her wounds, and her pain. They’d pick a knife from the devil’s box and he’d give the wheel a good hard spin.

And she, well, she tries to take it in and into her head, try to lose her thoughts into a time where she knew who she was so she’d speed up the drunken effects of spinning. But she still remembers the first knife that accelerated towards her, and she remembers all the effects of spinning being erased by this moment of anticipation to where it will hit her, she tried to shield her eyes and say a secret prayer to a deity she no longer connected with and then when she felt more alive than ever, she knew that the devil had lied. And when the first knife hit her arms, she knew for sure. As the pain she felt, however intense it is, did not make her feel any lighter, it made her feel more powerless than ever. And her blood that flowed all over the wheel did not take anything from her sin, in fact, she realized she had voluntarily given her soul to the devil and bowed and that in itself, she knew, was a sin.

So she felt more guilt and repented, but her limbs were still tied leaving her feeling more helpless and so it went on. A vicious spiral that deepened with every knife that came from a sadist’s hand seduced by the same devil that seduced her. She was stuck in his game just as much as every other man that aimed at her and walked away laughing at the sight of her blood-stained dress with a sense of accomplishment in his eyes that he himself did not understand. But the devil did and he enjoyed it. He enjoyed all the colors covering the darkness and all the laughter mixed with evident pain they all deny, it was his playground and he was their king because they let him.

That day the sun stared at her and she couldn’t stare back was no different than the others. The experiences she had were not new, and she did not anticipate anything. She had reached the final stages of her enslavement and no more was she willing to even raise her eyes to fight his smile when he counts the gold he collects off her pain. She was ready to die in her chains that she was even eager for the one man that will come and aim correctly, a man colder than the devil himself that will come and aim for her heart pitilessly, forever ending the devil’s game.

What she did not know is that, in that very same hour that she decided to hate the sun for shining, the devil was taking a man’s gold. Little did the devil know that the man was a hunter and he, with a snide smile, was looking for a heart to snipe.  The man took the most rusty of all the knives in the devil’s box and polished it in a handkerchief that he held in his pocket. All the rust disappeared and the knife shone with silver and glistening white in the sunlight. He looked at the girl’s dress weaving around her in a most chaotic manner and he looked at her eyes darkened and dim against her pale painted face, and her legs and arms tied to the wheel almost tearing her into two. And he with all dexterity raised the knife and aimed at her heart. He shall be the last man to ever hunt her young heart and he, unlike all the others, saw what was beyond her custom. The blood streamed from her chest and it started dripping on the floor. And the devil smiled at the sight of it and looked to the man with sparkling eyes, for his game was over.

‘’Congratulations, good sir’’ the devil said ‘’you won. Do you care to collect your prize?’’

‘’And what would that be?’’ the man inquired.

‘’Her very heart in its chains, sir.’’

‘’The heart and the chains are worthless now that she is gone, mute figures. You tied her up there, they are yours. I am merely the man that gives the devil the chance to start his game anew’’ in a cold steady voice the man said.

‘’Oh, that’s where sir is mistaken’’ the devil said ‘’I never tie anyone who wishes not to be tied. She could have gotten away anytime for her chains were merely strings and she chose her role.’’

The man said no other words but took the heart and walked away, he knew the devil and he knew the girl. He knew she could have gotten away if she had known how to say the right prayers, if she had known to take the roads less colorful, then she wouldn’t have had so much to pay for even if she would have ended up as cold as him, but she could have avoided her dreadful fate. He toured the carnival for one more time and behind him he heard the devil at his wheel shouting out ‘’Behold, gentlemen’’

Mythical Girl

For all those who are asking if the myth is real,

It's as real as breath, so listen, so feel,

I am the girl that stole a horse,

Into a night paved with remorse,

I rode it like no other can,

I mounted it when no one was looking and ran

Away from the arms of a home

To the heart of a home,

Away to the heart of hearts,

I am the girl that ends where she starts,

And never starts at the same end twice,

The one that steals at no price,

And seeks refuge in her stolen treasure,

Until the time comes for the pressure

To rise, she drowns in covers of ''what if''s,

I am she, the one who for leisure dived off cliffs,

And came back ever more alive, ever more dead,

Came back with horns and rings all on her head,

And thorns in her eyes,

And a mouthful of poetry and cries,

To ride again into lands new and old,

Old because she's seen them all unfold

Beneath her feet, new for she's never lived enough

To endure the most precious of the stuff,

So she tasted, she smelled, she touched and kissed,

She saw her dreams and she aimed, but she missed,

And she drank from rivers hidden,

She relished in fruits forbidden,

She trode carefully but stepped on souls and,

She turned meanings into sand,

With just a touch from her hands, weak,

Small, Barely enough for her to seek,

What life had for her on the top shelf,

Eager, but barely enough to help herself,

Yet, this girl is so mythical because,

If you were to see her, you'd never know who she was,

You'd never know the things she said,

The sins she committed that rendered her dead,

The lands she visited, the hearts she knew,

The souls she loved and how her love is true,

How many eagles lifted her and her free fall down,

Then the holes she dug searching for a wooden crown,

You'd never see the real price,

This girl has paid for being nice,

And being nice is all what you'll see of her,

You'll think it's all what's truly there,

And you'll keep wondering if she's real,

Will you ever feel what she's capable to feel,

Or has she known the borders of the devil

To willingly dance with him at every revel,

Tapping over water together with every last breath,

Or is it true the end of her myth,

That this girl trode away on her stud,

From the borders of the devil to find God,

And once she rode on this path alone,

Little about her was actually known,

But rumor has it, behind her she left a friend,

Who knew truthes about her to no end,

They say he was a part of her,

And he knew her when no one would dare,

He'll be the one to tell you the relentless truth,

About how much anility was in her youth,

What he's found out in the dungeons of her home,

About monsters and creatures she's all become,

But ask him if she's good at heart,

Ask him why is it that always alone she departs,

Why she left home in the first place,

What are the meanings of the markings on her face,

How was her smile, her cry, her shoulder

How did he watch her get older,

Ask him if he ever saw the wooden crown

If she wore it dusty and muddy brown,

About her eyes speaking instead of her tied tongue

And about the fading silver in her lung,

Say, do you hear of her?

Did you and she breathe the same air?

And when he says yes, and he will,

You'll have the answers solid and still,

Then ask him, after he tasted of her tears and blood,

If he knew if she's ever found God.

The Rising

The room was dim,

And I, the great promising

Heiress bowed to him,

His strong legs never missing

From my sight and old battle fields,

Dressed in black and golden shields,

And behind them, he was, over most

Else a non-existent form, a ghost.

His hands slowly reached,

To my streaming eyes and my chin,

For so long to this effigy I had preached

On my knees, till the cold ground tore off my skin,

And so he lifted my chin off the ground,

His hands were ice cold, I have found,

And my eyes scanned his face,

Of silver, steel and endless space.

His eyes coal black and his lips sealed

Shut by death,

Such grave miserable death,

To which his soul must yield.

And I, an heiress of a great world,

Am threatened by the same sword,

But no more, my soul said,

No more holding your legs of stone,

Steady like a statue of a hero, dead,

Buried in me, till I find a grave of my own.

So I stood up, hands free to cherish,

The highlands of my own kingdom

To be, where you, O Prince, will parish

For the sake of my own freedom,

For the sake of my own beauty,

Haven’t you said, it’s always been your duty

To bow to me, so how am I the one

Bowing and shielding my eyes from your sun?

And still you claim you want me,

That when you look, it’s me you see,

So tell me, my beloved Prince,

About what you truly see

When you close your eyes and ever since

You did, have you even once dreamt of me?

Or have the lust for the virgins’ blood

Blind your soul and in the flood

Of your overwhelming appetence for

Their moans, you’ve lost the way to my door?

I will not apologize for my attitude, my lord,

No more will I be a slave to your soul,

By sin and dust, by sinew and cord,

No more, heart and head and silent call

To gold and black covers of a ghost,

I will not apologize for being lost.

Because I am forever found,

Sadly for you, my place is not the ground,

And though with every call in my body,

I showed you how I love you,

With my all that’s in me, be it calm or bloody,

I’ll also show you how I hate you

To the core with all what’s burned and burning,

I hate you with the passion of loving

And with the madness of every single thought

In my endless realm you’ve once sought.

But there's one thing you didn't account for,

When you lead me in and shut the last door,

That I am the key to my own

Existence, it’s in my hand alone

To bow and break or to stand

And turn your heart into sand

Swiftly slipping from my hand to the wind,

That carries it far to the world’s end,

For I am the heiress,

The queen in the making,

The cruel mistress,

And the witch in the waking,

I am the virgin’s blood spilled

At your door, it was my will for you,

And the heart that you’ve once killed

To escape all what’s old, all what’s true,

It was your sacrifice made unwillingly,

Truly for me, but for you seemingly.

So in this kingdom, take your right place,

Bring your knees to the ground,

Let the cold silver of your face,

Shine upon a hell profound,

And recognize your fate that’s grim,

Under my heels and twisted waist

In veils of scarlet and dim light,

At the shores of royal lips you’ll never taste

At hearts in hands and surging waves

All breaking into rotten graves,

Never to be seen again, just like you,

Bow, O prisoner Prince, to the queen anew.

Sinful Poet

Nothing's worse than the sin of a poet,

Even if their tongues pleads to be forgiven,

The soul's pain collects the pleasure when they saw it,

And rejoices in it when in the heart of a dirge it's driven.

Nothing's worse than a poet that sins,

They see the scars in their souls eye to eye,

In mutating portraits with burning falling skins,

And then a trophy on their tombstones when they die.

Men Of God

This is a very different poem from what I usually do, it's about a subject that have always drove me insane with fury... I don't know what to actually say about it... It's way out of my comfort zone and I've been reluctant to posting it... But when something is so different, it's when i need the most extensive feedback to expand myself... so please, don't hold back on criticism :)

In unison we speak,

And we talk of one word,

We cure the souls that are weak,

With bargain and with sword,

Our minds are all set,

To the path of our lord,

We honor our holy debt,

As we're men of God.

We walk in our ropes,

And we hold on to our poise,

We bless you with hopes,

We relief you from choice,

Our hearts are all green,

and unburdened with mud,

It's nothing you've ever seen,

For we're men of God.

There's no time for laughter,

When the world is in sin,

They'll spend their ever after,

Serving demons in their boiling skin,

They say that we judge them,

When we demand their blood,

And discard us when we redeem them,

As men of our God.

In the name of our Lord,

We claim all heretics' heads,

We gather their cancerous word,

And burn it to shreds,

Yet they say that we use his holy name

When we're up for no good,

But our hands only light the flame

to serve as men of our God.

They say we strangle freedom,

And their art we oppress,

That we build the lord's kingdom

With what he'd never bless,

They help the devil in his devious plan

And plant his seed and enjoy the bud

Then relish in evil that's destroying man

But we shall survive as men of God.

Their minds are deluded and they don't understand

the poets and the rebels, those facing the flood

Refusing to bow and kiss our white hands

And glorify our graves, us, Men of God.

At The Bottom I Met Medusa

"Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice."

             Robert Frost’s ‘’Fire and Ice’’

He was born to a scream and then quietude like every other human. And then the quietness and emptiness of his existence started to diminish, worlds started to conquer him, and realms started to contain and release him again and again. Until he was only a son of the world, inside him different forms of humanity, and angels and devils, and other creatures without a name, but they also defined him.

In the place he was born, everything started with a cloud and ended with a ghost.

Started with the cloud of fear that blocked most rays of hope and cast twilight shades on most of his days. It was so familiar that he did not have to look up to understand what his reality is; there was nothing to comprehend about what became a fundamental part of his existence. Sometimes he would justify the presence of the cloud; sometimes he’d say the shadows are better for his skin and for his sight. Some other times, he spent hours asking people if they see it too, and whenever someone said they didn’t, he would call them crazy or simply call them an alien, claiming he was the only human and that’s why he can accept the cloud of fear in his life, lurking above his head at all times.

So he lived in the shadows and darkness. Went on meeting other people who have also found shelter in the same safe place. And he kept building worlds and destroying others, in moments, in memories, departures and arrivals, all from the same place inside him. He said many hellos and many goodbyes and felt so little about both, he held hands and gave hugs, because that’s what humans do, and he is, to the core, human if anything.

But like all the others, the sun was not an option because the shadow offered food, water, and perfect temperature for building and breaking fields, then building all over again so he can justify another fall. So why choose a path away from the safety of the shade and into sunlight that god knows what can do to a creature as mortal as himself? It did not make sense, so he did not mouth it to anyone, he did not even speak of it to himself. The cloud is there for a sane reason, for protection. And if your eyes are opened too widely in the sun, it can hurt them and burn your soul by its strength.

And as for what the ancient carvings on hidden walls of caves had said about the freeing rays of hope, it will never apply to his land and his age, because freedom has changed, freedom in itself became in the dark. You have the freedom to be afraid of anything and anyone you want, you have the freedom to invite all your ghosts to any tea party that you set in your own fields and watch them offer all their experience to you as bedtime stories, so you can build another wall for another fortress that will crack and collapse inside you. And that was enough.

The ghosts were just a natural ending created by every fallen tower inside him, and that’s exactly what the ghosts did when invited outside the soul and into the field, so they can fill empty spaces and then work as slaves for him to build new foundations. And that’s always how the story ended, and how the story started again in a boring dance routine that replayed for ages.

And in one of those ages he built a wall of glass at the edges of the shade, he was far inside it, but he could see the borders of sunlight so definitive at the doors. He dare not have come closer if it wasn’t for a strange breeze that eased some meaningless conflict he’s been having, and when he did approach the borders, he found out what caused it.

She twirled and swayed, her arms going up and down, disturbing the air’s stagnation into waves of harmony, a silent melody that only she knew about. Her legs were barely touching the grass and the more he watched her the more he believed she was flying, nothing holding her down to this earth but the way the earth itself responded to her dance.

He did not know how long he had stood there watching her, but he could not turn away. Suddenly his freedom was held down by invisible shackles to the ground from which he can always see this mysterious creature of beauty that looked human to the outside eyes, but to him she wasn’t. And finally, after he spent hours being invisible, she noticed him and she came to the glass wall separating them and kneeled. By then, he too was kneeling on the other side of the glass wall with hands on it firm, as if trying to extend it through, to explore her.

‘’Are you human?’’ he asked.

‘’Yes’’

‘’But you’ll burn in the light!’’

‘’Or you’ll freeze in the dark’’ she smiled.

From this first encounter onward, the words had varied, the words were many and the meanings were too. And they never ended, so a friendship had to start.

Every day at the same hour they met by the glass wall. She told him about the different paths of the sun rays, how each one offered a possibility and a purpose, she explained about something called faith in so many things and in an omniscient spirit, a God that he told her that in the shadows they call it habit. And she explained happiness, while he explained pleasure. She explained halos as he explained electromagnetic waves. And every single day, she convinced him to leave the world under the cloud and join the world under the sun, for the sun is vaster and warmer, and all those who were buried under the cloud left marks that the sea washed away soon after they’re gone, but marks made under the sun were carved in stones.

As a resident of his field, the glass wall had to remain stable and unchanged and he dared not touch it. But from her side, her meadow, the glass wall was her canvas and every day she came to visit; she carved a line, a shape, a letter. Something to crack the glass and let him out. But as days passed by, the wall he built proved itself to be thicker than she thought, but she did not give up, while on the other side just a step away from completion, he did.

 ‘’Let me help you’’ she had said the last time he spoke to her.

‘’You can’t’’ his tongue broke her heart like a poisoned spear and he knew it ‘’No one can help me’’ he added, in a failed attempt to mend even if just a piece. But she was already broken, just as much as he was and he could not have stood there to watch it, so he left the glass wall and disappeared in the shadows.

Back then when he thought he’s too deep into the dark he still saw the sky; he still felt some breath inside his lung, not just a process of inhaling and exhaling he was no longer aware of. He did not know that when he turned that glass wall into stone that he created a spiral for his own soul. And that once it had started from the earth’s surface down, it takes away from his precious humanity and during this spiral he passes death many times, as it holds him and releases him into a lesser form of life that vanishes slowly as he slides into steeper slopes.

And now, it is the bottom of the spiral, where all lives end. The meeting of all the veins into a pool of long term stagnation disturbed by unearthly hurricanes. He did not complain about the dark or about being clueless of what’s next at hand. There was nothing to do, as he knew nothing to be done.

He is in that place where no one can help him, where no words can save his soul because it was already in the grip of the spiral for so long and by the end it was sliding by too great a velocity for human hands to catch up with, or strong words to summon him back to at least grayness.

He is in that black place of nothingness. Where it is as close to heaven as it is to hell.

Icy blue wind from one side and fiery red from the other, trading places and merging into each other, colliding inside him then outside him, then piercing deeper into what’s left of him.

In the choice between heaven and hell he did not know which is which, for the fire would burn his skin and then the ice would sooth it, then the ice would freeze his core just as bad, and the fire would give him some reassuring warmth. And in this black place of no choice, he did only that. Kneeling on the floor, eyes up to the sky, where he once started, searching for a God that he once found in the girl’s words and lost in downward acceleration.

In his final field he is as motionless as a scarecrow. In one hand a gun on the ready and in the other he held his heart, so exposed to everything that has come to taste its bloody walls. First the fire would come and boil each drop of blood until it is almost vapor and then the ice comes and freezes it as it turns into mute stone in a most excruciating process. He had the gun in his hand and he had the heart, he could have made his choice any second to stop the pain and liberate himself from the fear for once, if only he had believed earlier, he would know what to do now to get away from Medusa’s glare that’s spreading stone into his extremities.

It is too late, and with every fiber of his heart that turned silent, a blister of infected stagnation was drained away and instead left emptiness. And by the last viable fiber, he was barely alive, his limbs have gone hard and so did his body.

He felt the fire and the ice fighting over his soul for one last time, and it was unfortunate that he knew how it always ends by now, and as the last breath of humanity drained out of him, he died to a scream and then quietude, like every other human.

The Furnace

Do I dare to say that in such a world,

Controlled by numbers and swords,

That I too, have lost my soul to,

A pretense that I know not what’s true?

Do I dare to reach inside the old

Graveyard, silent, melancholy, cold,

No matter what my seasons are,

And say that it holds inside it a star?

Or have I become, myself, whom

Once was a stray witch on a flying broom,

A graveyard for my very own light?

Have I become one with the night?

In a grave at the corner, so fresh,

There’s a desire of newly rotten flesh,

To sink my claws into your chest,

And tear my way through the rest

Of the strength and steal and whatever,

Has concealed you long since forever,

And then reach the faintest fiber of your heart,

And turn its weakness into lands of art,

In colors dark and deep burning your pride,

To ashes blown away in a universe wide,

Then make you wear it on your sleeve,

Every time I get up to leave.

Our world uncontaminated with pleasantries,

On spider-webbed-white as clouds- tapestries,

As you smile and cry and pour your heart’s blood,

Into my vessels unburdened by its heavy thud,

And I guide you deeper into mutual anoesis,

And hold in my soul the keys to all the pieces

Of a skin that once broke only for my touch,

And a mind that never opened up itself as such,

Our souls no longer wrapped around

Ourselves but one another’s, profound

As to set us apart from the dying fire

Burning us deeper into furnaces of desire.

Purple Heart

''Do you know that purple heart,

Always smiling on the sidewalk?''

She said, her hands reaching to that part

Where her head was buried when she once broke.

''I've never seen that heart before,

But always knew it, it was mine,

Chanting spells at night outside my door,

Standing at my heels in every line.

And I always thought it strange,

That I heard it loudly, clearly beating,

No matter what the world will change,

Beat after beat, I heard it fleeting.

Repeated screaming would instead fill my soul,

The sounds of deranged pearl holders,

Here under my feet to offer their all,

At the marvels of my heart's borders.

Some then stray and some then sleep,

Under my skin demanding to be repaid,

By desire and sunlight and rapture to keep,

When cold and dark past their welcome had stayed.

And I try to collect them in my hand,

Arrange them carefully, meticulously in strings,

Strong enough to hold my neck and withstand,

the wear and tear and twist of things.

There, nerves and sinews in hearts of pearls,

Where pearls of hearts tire and succumb,

There, a smile of love from a little girl,

That grew up and died at the doors of numb.

And then her lungs had not enough air,

And then her pearls ran high and dry,

And then her face was no longer fair,

And then her heart wasn't red enough to cry.

And then I looked outside to the sidewalk,

And I saw the suffocating smiling purple heart,

It is mine, fixed me when I once broke,

It is mine, with a promise not to depart.''

From the Red Gardens

I

The End of Space,

In the secret locked room,

Where young stars come to bloom,

The souls of the dead met,

To discuss the awful threat

On the burdened human heart,

And the eldest shrugged ‘’Where do I start?

The men, to ruins tumbling down,

The women, are valued by the jewel and gown,

Children abandoned in the streets like stray mice,

I’m surprised their suns are bright enough to rise’’

And above the howling enthusiastic cloud,

Rose the youngest but still the most proud,

‘’I look at that rock covered with ice,

And I know exactly what will suffice,

To save the hearts of humans from doom,

They need a creature within them to bloom.’’

II

And sky above us was ever as black

When taken over by a moonless night attack,

With troops and tanks of silence that orbit it,

The only resistance, the whistles of a cricket,

A soldier in the dark, the only sign

That life will survive another day in the timeline,

And from my window I looked out,

With a mouthful of hope and a heart full of doubt,

I gazed upon the endless road of concrete,

The whistles a harmony to my faint heart beat,

Floating in a cloud of dust and lies,

Blinding my vision and blocking my cries,

Is there no defeating the night?

Oh, how much I want to forfeit the fight,

This town might as well be long dead,

I closed my curtains and went to bed.

III

The slayer of the night,

Has come from afar burning bright,

And now she’s here,

Her breath is far but her warmth is near,

She circled the earth like a swift ray

Of white and tranquillity, then just flying away

To another eye that needs to see

What beauty in this life can truly be,

Her wings in the wind throwing a spark,

At the resilient soldiers of the dark,

And her fires take away the daily hell,

Burying it deep inside a hidden well,

The blessing of heaven from the gardens of red

And yellow and orange is here to spread

Her flames over the land and the sea,

O, Phoenix, will you shine on me?

IV

And sky above us turned blue again,

The sun masking the trails of pain,

In the men’s cheers and the women’s chuckles,

Her child at play and her baby’s suckles.

And I walked outside, eyes on the sky,

Where did your flames in the morning lie,

I asked humankind ‘’did you see

The queen of the night that will set us free?’’

But the man still had the same pain in his eye,

The woman’s laugh still hid a loud cry,

O, Phoenix, why did they miss your fire,

Why don’t you give them for life a desire?

Heal our pain with your soothing tears,

Burn away our frozen fears,

Their ignorance filled you with the deepest gashes,

But I have faith you’ll rise from the ashes.

Someday the world will sleep without ever another blink,

And you’ll be my Atlantis that in the oceans of time did sink,

Then when the heart is in need you’ll come through space,

Eternally, the Beginning of Your Grace.

The Train and the Violin

Have I ever been that crazy?  Is it the right thing to do now?

Just five minutes ago I was asleep. I could never sleep on trains before but I am so sleep deprived that my body decided to break its rules and succumb to the mental and physical exhaustion of the past few days, in fact, the past few weeks. My life has been like one continuous day, just starting then breaking and starting all over again. I guess that’s what happens when you decide to leave your hometown and move out, to the world. To take your place in the big city and take your shot at greatness, in the end, isn’t that what all humans are seeking?

I just had no idea it would be that hard to leave home for the first time, especially when your life has been great there. Don’t get me wrong, I could not wait to get out of my parents’ town and take some distance, but who am I to deny that they gave me a great life, they’ve been friends in friendless times and their words shaped variable portions of my opinions whether I like it or not. It is not easy at all to leave the comfort zone. Such a beautiful routine, all the way through school and college and practicing violin through it all. Playing for the small circle of family and friends, and sometimes just for myself. Even at the hardest times of business school, the violin had to echo every night from my room to the open air, it has always been my way of announcing myself to the world beyond this town. The world I longed to be a part of so much.

And that job in business I finally got without even trying was a surprise. Just the one I needed to start the journey and get out of this slow time, I couldn’t believe it when I got the letter. My dad couldn’t believe it too; he always thought that business was not for me, not because I was not capable, just because I did not want it badly enough and I wanted my violin more at all times. To him that was not enough, to everyone else but me, that was never enough. And my mother was happy too, but her smile came from behind a veil of tears and I knew her first concern was her little girl flying out of the cozy nest she had so carefully built around her. If I was a mother, I would have probably felt the same, but it is not enough to hold me back.

I refused to let my fear of a new world, a life of my own, hinder the opportunity presented to me. So I rushed into accepting the job and in a fortnight I was on my way to the train station with a brown old handbag and my black violin box.

I stared at the clock on the wall for an hour, sitting on the floor and waiting for my train to arrive. People coming and going all around me, but I did not notice them much, like I was in a world of my own and all what was there is that clock, changing minutes so slowly. I am still not over my father’s pat on the shoulder and my mother’s tears when she hugged me. Not to mention my friends who came to say goodbye, friends that I have spent every day of my life with, shared every little thought with, they are going to leave such a hole inside me. But I will fill it soon, with working hard, getting a new place, walking down busy streets and coffee in the morning with hip hop beats in the background, just like the movies.

‘’Just get past the train ride, and I’ll buy you candy’’ I said to myself.

Candy was my little nickname for violin, because since I was young the rapture I got from playing made me feel like my soul is eating the most delicious candy in the world, fancy, pure and colorful. I didn’t wait for the train to come, let alone for it to arrive to the city. I could not breathe, just staring as the minutes slowly change, and as my life changes with it, feeling like I should be changing too somehow, I should start to feel like I want this job now, I should be forgetting the violin beside me on the floor and this dream of an opera house full of people with changed souls because of my music. This dream should be dying by now; I should want to change the world some other way, by a career in business.

I had to take it out of there, I couldn’t breathe, and I knew it will help me.

And I did, I took it out and I started to play. That hit of the first cord, it relaxes every muscle in my body except my neck’s, my arms’ and my fingers’, they’re more active than ever, like a soldier in full attention and it fills my soul with this first wave. I can not explain it, but a wave comes after another and it just brings me to close my eyes and it takes me away, into myself or to another world. It is like a soothing fire that surrounds me inside out and little by little, it opens up my lungs and allows me to breathe.

I did not need to play for long to sooth myself and return to the world of the living. When I opened my eyes and looked around me, the world was still as alive as it was before. People are still coming and going, luggage carts still passing me by, metal chains of steal still clinging and ringing like annoying bells and only a few minutes have passed since I last checked the clock. Only the floor of the violin box was not the same, it was covered with glistening silver coins, I took another look around me and noticed the lady standing a few meters away with a smile on her face and an encouraging nod. Something triumphed over every other emotion and thought inside me and it brought me to smile back and thank her with a nod in return.

‘’Did I just give my first professional performance? A street performer is still a performer’’ I looked at the silver coins in the box in disbelief. I picked them up, counted them, as happy as a human can get. It wasn’t a lot of money, enough to buy a sandwich at most. Some people must have given me their change because they thought I was poor and I needed it and some others must have liked my music, but this money as little as it may be felt like it was mine. And either way, my music must have provoked some instinct of kindness in them. I have never felt more proud of myself, not even when I graduated first in my class, not even when I got this high-paid job. So I went and got the cheapest, greasiest and most delicious tuna sandwich I have ever tasted.

A while later the train had arrived and I am in my cabin, listening to music and staring out of the window. The sandwich is no longer in my hands, the violin is sound asleep in its box, and the colorful taste of candy in my soul started to get tainted by questions and black dots of doubt about what I want to do with my life, where my future is going and will it ever make me happy. I did not want to lose this profound joy but somehow it was still disappearing into me and lots of ghosts were taking its place. So I raised the volume to the maximum, to drown my own voice.

‘’Just get past the train ride, and I’ll buy you candy’’ I told myself like a mother tells her terrified kid in a doctor’s office.

Soon after the train had moved I fell asleep with only this sentence in my mind, and I do not know how long it has been, but I woke up to the sound of the woman across from me crunching and devouring piles of chips. I looked outside the window, rails, desert, few trees and bushes, few rest houses, still another hour till we arrive to the station. I threw my head back on the neck rest and the same sentence was still playing over and over, trying to keep me in my place.

‘’I’ll buy you candy? Well, let the candy buy itself some candy’’ frustrated by my own sound, I finally screamed at myself.

I am not afraid; I refuse to tell myself that I’m rethinking this decision because of fear. I am just unhappy with it. This train will not take me to a new life, only a new place and it won’t be my place, wherever the violin is, that’s my place.  It will not be my dream, not my life, certainly not my will. But what choice do I have? I am already moving, already on my way from the meek town that was trying to tame my wildest dream to the wildest city that will try to devour it whole. All of a sudden my soul is awake, and it’s rebelling on me and I can not hold it back from seeking happiness. But what do I have to do? what is my other choice? jump from the train while it’s moving?

Have I ever been that crazy?  Is it the right thing to do now?

I stand at the open door of the train, with only the black box in my hand, inside it the only thing I need to feel alive rather than survive… my violin.

The hot air washes over my face and pushes me back inward but I hold on to the sides of the door, I will not return to my cabin. Real insanity would be to go back and start a life that is not meant for me.What will my mother think if I don’t arrive in time and call her? What will my friends say? I might not see them again. I guess I will let them know I’m alright and that is enough for now. My father will be the most disappointed, but I can only hope he will understand someday. I can not let the violin rust in that black box, I can not let myself rust inside me as well. It’s either to take the leap now, or to take the leap never.

‘’ma’am, please return to your cabin’’

‘’No, I said I will not return to my cabin’’ I shouted over the air rushing towards me and into the train.

I took a deep breath and then I jumped. I can tell it’s the best decision I have ever taken already.

If I Could Start a Fire

If I could start a fire,

That will live up to my heart’s desire,

I will sleep serenely in its light,

As it devours the little pieces of night

That always disturbed me in my sleep,

I’ll watch it dance for me when I weep

In my secret white haven of cold

And it’ll burn away the pain of the world,

Forever reflecting in my sparkling eyes,

Melting my soul’s flakes as it dies,

And I watch as its ashes in smoke disappears

Into another life with all my fears,

And when the sun’s taken over the fight,

I’ll still wait for the next lonesome night

To hide in a place where no sound of feet

Disturbs the waves of winter and silent retreat,

Then I’ll start yet another fire,

That will live up to my heart’s desire.

Cauldron Top

In the Empty Quarter desert a merchant and his son lost their way returning from a trade in Persia. For days, the merchant walked as his son followed behind in silence. It was a scorcher like most summer days in this land. The little boy had some water in his goatskin but the road had been long all the way to their land, and the sun had been cruel on their bare heads and their dry throats. The sand dunes went higher than their vision can go. Still, behind every dune the boy looked eagerly trying to find any signs of humans. Until at one point his father gave up and sat on a rock.

The little boy understood his father’s thirst and gave him the remaining water in the goatskin, but the expression on the father’s face did not ease. And the little boy knew that his father was worried about the Persian carpets and the beautiful clothes they just bought back, but he did not understand the silence that filled the air around them with despair. So the boy ran around the area, circling his father, climbing the waving sand dunes as the sand brushes over his face with the hot air and once his vision clears, he scans the horizon for signs of life.

And when he looked west, far in the horizon he spotted a brown little structure. The boy jumped up and down in joy with whatever energy left in him ‘’ look, father, a well’’

His father got off the rock, life back to his eyes. He sprinted to where his son was standing. It took him a while to see the dark brown figure in the distance, it was almost impossible to tell for sure if it’s a well or not, but for lack of brighter hope, the man allowed himself to cheer for the discovery and he carried his sacks to set journey to the alleged well.

After hours of walking to what seemed to be a much closer destination, it became clear to the merchant and his son that it’s a brown hut built in the middle of nowhere, made of mud and covered with dried palm leaves. No signs of a well, but at least it’s a place to shelter from the sun eating its way to their head until it made their vision ever more unclear. So unclear that they hardly noticed the woman dressed in black, her legs crossed on a rock and in front of her a black cauldron sitting on the fire. You can hardly see her face from the veil wrapped around it, and the sea of wrinkles drowning her features did not make it easier. Her eyes were focused on what’s inside the cauldron and her lips moved without a sound, meaningless muttering at most. In her hand tightly she held a thick wooden stick half dipped in the cauldron and the half outside covered with carvings in a language they did not recognize, and she stirred what was inside using it.

She did not seem to notice them either, so the old merchant huffed twice.

She raised her eyes slowly with her hand still stirring ‘’who are you?’’ she asked, her voice as old as she looks.

‘’ We are lost travellers from North Africa and we have no water, can you help us?’’

‘’We are sitting on a river.’’ the old woman said.

The man rubbed his head twice and looked around him, maybe the heat has already rendered his head unstable that he missed a nearby river, but there was nothing there. He felt disappointed already for it seemed that he will not be getting the water anytime soon, if there was any to start with, and if this crazy old witch gives it to him. But she was his only hope, and his other option was to find a rock to curl beside and die, so if she was a crazy witch his only hope was that she is good enough to help him so, ‘’what do you mean?’’ he asked.

‘’Where we are standing now, many thousands of years ago, ran a river and it had sunk in time. Just like every existence eventually does. It sinks and new worlds float on the top of the cauldron’’ she said looking absent-mindedly into the little spiral created by the liquid she’s stirring ‘’those which float do so for a reason. If you find the reason, then your thirst will be cured’’

‘’Do you expect me to believe this nonsense you are speaking?’’ the merchant laughed ‘’please, if you have just a scarce amount for us, we will be forever in your debt. Maybe just a sip of what’s in front of you, it will be enough.’’

‘’The Cauldron top does not satisfy but those who find the reason of its superiority. Walk the world and find out why it is the way it is and not the way you wish it to be’’

The man was losing his patience, but it was either holding on to it or losing this bleak flickering hope. Being scared for the life of his son, his own life and his goods, he decided to oblige to the old woman’s request. Even though he did not understand it. To walk the world seemed very meaningless now that he have been walking for days on his journey, but as hopeless as he had walked before, this time will not be the same. He will be finding the reason why a desert is a desert and not a river. How will that lead him to water, he did not understand.

‘’Come on, son.’’ He ordered.

‘’Father, if it’s ok, I’ll set wedge here until you come back’’ the boy said, his eyes back and forth between the woman and his father to see if either would mind, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere.

Overwhelmed by a wave of anger mixed with impatience and disorientation, the merchant told his son he can stay and stormed off, over the sand dunes and then out of sight.

A few hours into the seemingly endless day after silence mixed with the howls of wind and air from hell, the old woman said ‘’He found reason the moment he set off to find it’’ her voice was filled with satisfaction, as her mouth kinked in what seems to be the ruins of a smile. ‘’the colors of the cauldron top will surround him and sink.’’

She filled a cup from the liquid on the surface and handed it to the little boy.

‘’Drink it’’ she pushed it towards him ‘’your father will not be coming back, his journey ends by the setting of this sun and the colors of the cauldron will change and you will have to follow him into the world of the past if you don’t drown it inside you.’’

‘’What do you mean he’s not coming back? Is my father dead?’’ the boy asked, chocking on tears.

‘’Death, is to go up with those fumes, wasted.’’ She said, her fingers dancing around the colorful fumes emanating from the cauldron. She looked at him, for the first time, in her eyes there was a sparkle, like a tear held far inside. ‘’Your father sank, to give way to other souls to surface up, like yours. And if you drink this now, the black wings that carried him to the bottom that will be his new top, will wrap their wings around you to carry you back home’’

The boy did not understand everything the old woman was saying, but the sparkle that appeared in her raisin-like eyes and the tremble in her voice activated a fight or flight reflex that was not strong enough, something about the faith in her words was like a hand that reached out to him. And he knew that he should listen to her, even though it is not completely comprehensible.

 He jutted down the drink without thinking much, and it made him thirstier, in a moment of chocking followed by a moment of panic he thought he’s going to die of his dry throat. ‘’what have you done?’’ his voice came out hoarse and deformed. And just as he finished the question, he saw a wake of vultures fill the sky. They formed a circle around him and attached their claws to his worn out clothes, ready to carry him off. He started to feel an energy settling into his limbs, he was not tired anymore and he felt he could walk around the whole earth, but he was still thirsty.

As they lifted him, he looked at the woman with terrified eyes, his silence begging her to tell him what to do.

‘’If you find the reason, then your thirst will be cured’’ the old woman whispered before the vultures carried him back home.