Tag Archives: Kiss

Unkissed Kiss

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why you vanished
like migrating birds
from the vista
of darling desires

on the melancholic wings
my un-quenched thirst
flaming and burning

in the depth of horizon
deserted dreams
falling like setting sun

yet I wait for you
near the grave
with unlit pyre
to embrace you
to own you
like a soft
unkissed kiss.

© Maaya Dev

The Polish Kiss

In a dreamy field with dark blue irises,
Her lips are like falling, red butterfly wings.
In his blue eyes, she sees that hope rises.
O’er the life bridge, sometimes, the bell of death swings.

In the flower-filled wind, so high is his thought
As near is his feeling to the heart of love.
Flapping skywards, the dark spirits come to naught.
So sunny the sky, here flies the white dove.

With his long black hair and his beautiful chest,
He is a Polish king in their wedding bed.
His ringed hand swings the paradise of her breast.
From there, so far is the rising moon and so red.

Their thoughts into the vast infinity slip,
Into the flowers’ seeds; untouched sutured wounds
In forgotten memories flutter and clip.
Prayers from afar do flow to the lips’ sounds.

She wakes up in the field; the irises have grown.
Her vibrating horizon is forsaken-
A love so near that her heart has never known.
Knows now who she has, from her dream, awakened.

Poem by Marieta Maglas

Cubic Words

There are hues of
blue embracing those of red
to vibrate in harmony.
There is a sense
of their movement above
the limits.
There is ceaselessly a feeling in the sense.
The feelings can be objects.

Conceivably, the things have a beginning,
because we believe it,
and maybe
there is neither beginning nor end.

In the spring rain,
there are kissing statues.
In the lulled lodgings
emblazoned with
shadows of shabby objects
on the walls,
there are lonely people
meditating about their life.
There is a measure of vulnerability
For everything that is good

and for the starving birds
in searching for seeds everywhere
as for those cancerous youngsters
having unimaginable pains,
still yearning to be cured not till experience.
In the coverings,
there are riders of the history
dressed in armor
to enter the mind’s imagination and
all that is not the mind’s imagination.

In the spring nights,
there is a moon becoming a curtain
for the great vaudeville
of the stars

formed from the other stars,
no two alike,
and being

like charming women
wearing masks and
wide necklines, nor
like those ballerinas that like to costume
in lactate white to suggest
dandelions dancing to spread their seeds.

In the luxury shop windows,
there are gems looking like flowers
and flowers looking like gems.

In the Sisyphus dimension,
there are tired eyelids in abeyance.
Nothing bends from above, everything falls down.

There are emerald northern lights.

In a puddle of sun,
There are emerald green, tattooed bodies
Dancing tango.

There are cubic dragons,
and there are things that have been taken apart
to be put, then, back together in a wrong order.

So, there is self-loathing,
and there are feelings of worthlessness
in a life spent earning filthy lucre.
There are resentments to destroy the lives.
There are the wrong things that fall apart and
the wrong things that fall together with those that are right.
There are words coming out in a wrong comprehension
to be incorporated into bad memories.
There are wrongly imagined riders of the history.
Uprising dove feather and prying eyes
get at the meaning of the truths in the uprights (there are many
truths left) .

But there will never be…

Blue trees
And eternal corpses.

 

Poem by Marieta Maglascubic words

The Fallen Star

Pictures play
Before my eyes ~

The wind
whips back
my hair…
The sun rays
make me
look fair…

Dreams sail
In the morning skies ~

Your arms
circle me,
draw me close…
Your kiss
makes me
stand on toes…

Love reborn;
Our suns rise~

The mad glint
in your eyes
take me far…
You so close,
we gently pick
the fallen star…

– September 21st, 2012

“Falling in love all over again with the one you’ve been loving all along is, perhaps, an inexplicable bliss…”