Category: Poetry

Kintsugi Heart

Kintsugi (Japanese: 金継ぎ, lit. ‘golden joinery’), is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with urushi lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.

Wikipedia


My thoughts were scattered,
Among the remains of my heart.

They said it was shattered,
When our paths drifted apart.

They asked me:
“what happened?”

I sang your name,
I praised your manners.

I tried, but in vain,
to clarify these matters.

Then I told them what happened:

The fire in my heart,
That you came and lit,

Was put off at once
With no ashes left.

I was by myself,
In my darkest of moments.

Your shoulder was missing,
When I cried and wept.

So no, my friends.
I have no regret.
It wasn’t her words
Nor that what she did.

It was what was not.

This curse is much older,
She was just one bit.
I am now getting wiser
I, now, can admit.

I gathered my pieces
And welded with gold.

My cracks are my stories,
And eager to be told.

Your cracks are your secrets,
That call me to unfold.

It may once more be shattered
I may once more weld
I may never surrender
More cracks is more gold!

Moonlight in Lausanne

It drizzled on that French-speaking city,
You sipped the wine and called me unlucky,
Curiosity crowned your head like a halo,
And empathy sneaked into your eyes.

How do I feel?
I spoke of new days,
And of my plan to build a lighthouse,
You dismissed my altruism,
Proposed I embrace the ego,
And I said yes.
You promised to remember me.

Oppressed by my ideas,
Almost freed by your promise,
I left you and rushed into the night,
With the moon, full, witnessing.

Between both lands,
My heart does sway.
A conscious mind,
Yet I yearn to play.
Rooted in heaven,
But the soul breaks away.

Let’s not long ponder
Over disparities of the facade.
Leave the magic within,
Colorful in the shade.

Under the Jealous Stars

It was dusk by the lake.
We sat on an unremarkable bench,
shaded by trees, hiding us from some jealous stars.
The Alps on the horizon,
covered with stracciatella snow,
and the quicksilver surface of the lake,
reflecting the fancy lights of this elegant city.

His green eyes gazed at the horizon.
His frown-wrinkles seemed to dissolve in the evening,
and I saw him place his heart on the bench beside him.
He handed me a Cuban cigar and a matchbox from Manuel’s.
A couple of hours of co-solitude,
in the center of the city, or the universe,
but very far from all.
He unleashed his mind with a hurricane of passion,
for creating footsteps,
for changing things,
and for glory.

I lent him my attention,
thankful for all the butterflies
that had led to this effect.
I felt richer and wiser,
and far from the center.
Thankful for the clarity of the moment,
and the purity of the bond.

After exchanging gratitude,
we embraced a comfortable silence.
The noise of streetcars,
mixed with nearby salsa tunes.
We promised more than just words.
“See you on Wednesday,” he said softly,
Our journey was just beginning.

Invisible, Intangible, Unfelt

You, Love!
Inside the walls you’ve built,
So tight,
Impermeably sealed.

Occasionally,
you climb to take fleeting peeks at those without,
then retreat,
far and deep.

A dance: now seen, now concealed,
now claiming a heart, or two, in your sweep,
Only to abandon, unfulfilled, and unhealed.

You withdraw, timid and untouched,
into a realm where light pervades yet smothers.

What purpose do you serve, Love?
If your flame lights no path?
It merely consumes your essence, entirely.

5000 Dreams, Whispered to the Wind

This land is mine,
my vibrant playground.

With the other ten thousand children of the neighbourhood,
We used to run about.

We’d tease Mr. Ali at his old shop,
He’d pretend to chase us with a broom.
We had no fear.

School was fun, with friends and games,
Our teacher Fatima knew all our names.

Chalk, and dreams,
of a world beyond conflict,
beyond the suffering and screams.

Today, the sky was sunny,
I was on the balcony admiring our olive tree.
But in a flash,
the sky roared.

I felt really scared.

I have already lost half of my friends.
Maryam, Peter and Mahmoud.
Under the rubbles of their homes.

Maryam, the little artist, with colors in her heart,
Her canvas remains blank, torn apart.

Peter, was going to be the next priest,
of our 800 years old church, now he lies under the altar.

Mahmoud, the future doctor, who promised to heal,
now, is just remains.

Maryam is killed.
Peter is killed.
Mahmoud is killed,
The olive tree is killed,
and the church is shattered.
It was all just too much.

Now I am also gone.

Five thousand dreams,
now whisper in the wind.
In what world is this fine?

Why don’t they care about me?
Peter was actually blond,
They say his great-grandmother was French,
with sky-blue eyes.
Would it have helped,
if we had shown the world Peter’s face,
instead of mine?

I guess it is too late now.
We are all playing in heaven.

Mom, it is so nice here.
Serene, no cries.
Nobody hates us for no reason,
and nobody is discriminated.
We are all loved and cared for.
Equally.

Reincarnated Thoughts

I thought I saw you the other day.
It took me a few seconds to remember that you are no more among us. Reincarnation?
Or probably in some other dimension? Shining your timid smile in another universe. While slightly tilting your head.
Ahh, your smile, your weapon, your fishing net, a gatherer of obsessed hearts.
Yet, you departed. With this exquisite collection of trophies
Leaving a multitude of men:
Incapable of love

Generated by Midjourney

Oud Scented Tears

Her fragrance of oud, a match for her majestic elegance
But her lower eyelid, beautifully lined with kohl, like a dam holding back her tears,
on the verge of overflow,
Her radiant smile remained intact, in denial

“Have you seen one smile and cry?” she asked

That smile, though weakened by her tears, still radiated a light that outshone the sun’s rays on today’s noon
Her irises, colored like the northern lights, floated above a river of tears
I felt her pain, but never could I understand

Love and despair, an unfair pair
I knew she struggled, burdened with care
I wished to ease her pain and take it away
But all I could do was fly

Photo by Anita SHEPPERD on Unsplash
Photo by Louis Galvez on Unsplash
Photo by Anton Khmelnitsky on Unsplash

P.S.: this poem was improved using ChatGPT. Neat, no?

Tulips and Cobblestones

In an early Saturday hour, it was just me and the cobblestones,
an empty old town.
One lonely goose in the river.

It is the farmers’ market today.
I bought tulips from the oldest woman.
I smelled them. I smiled. I quivered.

It was then, I thought of you.
I knew we won’t be two,
if you never show up,
if you keep on hiding in the future.

In case, we don’t fall in love forever,
and our hearts of petals keep on flying apart,
blown everywhere by the indecisive winds,
I will love the thought of you.

And while waiting for eternity,
let kindness prevail,
in our fragmented stories:
unique and unmatched
they pave our paths,
like Cobblestones!

Dust


The theory of dust..
I have just invented..
Or maybe I read it.. 
in some magazine..

It says that this earth.. 
is highly committed,
to pulling you down..
deep and within.

That’s why its magnetic.. 
Reunion of dust..
It’s almost poetic..

But everything dies.
Every. Thing. Ends.
The earth will get back.
all what she has lent..

But wait.. 

there is heaven..
with angels and souls
It’s properly hidden.
behind some unseen walls..
and mostly forgotten..
between the prayers and moans..

but it has also given..
your soul and your scent..
she also wants back..
what she has once lent..

You try to escape..
You want to exist..
you try finding life..
You try and resist..

in the darkness of cosmos.
in the light of your heaven..
some loves and some hates..
we think all persists

so dust pulls some dust
and soul pulls some soul
laws of attraction..
that always exist..

but,

Everyone dies..
Everything ends..