Tender Tale of Two

                                            To Frank, who can understand everything.

                                                       I wish I'd known you as a child.

You are my little prince

in the desert, fallen to earth 

from a heaven

of untamed shapes

and unspoken words.

Whenever
I draw you a boa constrictor

You don’t see a hat,

You instantly become best friends

with the elephant

waiting to be digested inside.

With you,

I’ve never been to a real desert

I’ve never left this room

as a matter of fact

but lately, my life

has become a poem 

in the shape of a box

fallen down to earth from a heaven

of miraculous landings.

Without a pre-existing map,

we follow the scent
of wild roses re-planted
in big-size flowerpots.

Like two pillars
born from the boiling ash

of the same volcano,
visible from any outer space,

Two standing  towers-
you and I wrap the blue sea water 

to prevent the loss
of a planet’s remained harbor.

A blind desert sand fox translates
the lava of thoughts

to and fro,
one coast of the ocean

at a time.
I never leave this room 

but I assume,
just like an sos message bottle,

it travels with the tide.

Memoirs of a Young Girl

Miss Havisham

never wound her heart

again  

and  it didn’t stop.

It didn’t stop the black bruises

on her frail arms

to complement the white

in her gown

nor the matching gray in her hair brows.

I remember visiting her

- for a while -

every now and then.

Once, we even contemplated  

turning  back the time.

First, I'd move the minute hand of the clock

backwards

Then I'd wait for her to do the same

with  the hour hand.

She looked pleasantly surprised,

hopeful and proud,

but soon  thereafter

the second hand of her golden watch

caught up with the day light

and there were tears in her eyes.

Once, we really tried to hold
the pendulum three hands

still, at the same time,

But it was stronger than both

and we had to give up.

I still wonder if, by any chance, 

time had actually stopped

for the two of us

not to stare but to reward

such a bold enterprise.                                    For the better version check this:

A Flower Girl’s Wordbook

1

Gone into the sun light

A mute distance away,

She is much farther

than the noon shade

of the late cherry trees

in blossom.

2

Tales printed on a pillow,

with scented prayers for the mighty sail,

from an unheard "goodbye",

tearfully translated

into the underworld oaths of Hades

and a painless tattoo

on a silk coffin veil.

3

Pencil figures on her anxious palm,

capital letters 
engraved
and arithmetics

scribbling down a repressed anticipation

on the quiet map

marked with controlled impatience

between the steel cell bars.

4

words hidden

words explained

words secluded

words forgotten

words misunderstood

words dying a while after 
the stone cross
is lifted

from a marble grave yard;

Words fallen down, 
under its heartsick burden.

5

Words, words, just words,

my angels,

my demons,

Flowering in the four corners 

of your mind

out of a closed window.

6

My deadly curse-

Holy icons painted in street colors,

Imaginary riddles and puzzles

For unseen eyes.

7

My ardent vows,

My fake self-promises

to resist a gambler’s urge
in their pursuit of happiness.

8

…missed…

…missing…

…to miss…

The torn, flying label

      intercepted 

by a short-term web

of a short-lived spider

erased then re-drawn

on a round table. Beloved.

9

Obstructing piles

of icy suffixes and prefixes

In a dark desert of silence,

Solitary echoes

At the bitter end of a delayed eclipse

Inversing geography

to strike the right balance.

10

Words- tons of vowels and consonants

Cuddled together

like some big, chance blunders

half-burnt,

half-frozen,

half-blind from a glacial epoch

Their sweet ashes overrun 

but preserved  

In a mutual language.

Survival Theory

Though totally wrong about other matters

Darwin was right:

It takes more than intelligence

or strength to survive.

An ability to embrace change,

As your own,

While kneeling down or looking up,

With a renewable smile on your face

 is quintessential.

Self-Standing

Down and deserted,

at the bottom of a limestone curtain  

I'm taking one last look

before my first step

can follow a single,
self-sufficient route
up the sublime mountain.

A new, exclusive trekking on my own

- with manifold trials -

Ready to enfold  their adverse adventures,

in front of my eyes.

With no one to care for my wounds,
Reaching the peak, by myself,

Would be like breathing in
the sad, 

lonely permanence of the altitude

and let my long-conflicting desires

finally click.

But for the distant silhouettes
of those kissing and hugging

in a wretched but divine place,

and the parting scents,
elevating their graceful decline,

I’d still be buried alive
inside  the scenic ruins

of the same distant homeland.

Homing Dusk

A hostile night breeze

wipes out the tears of a child

in the fast lane, for the first time,

the same way, the midday sun

dries up the high-yielding springs,

timing the return flight

of a single-winged
race pigeon.

A wind gust

caresses the aged surnames

carved in tree trunks

by chance third parties

while the deformed impressions

of their rightful owners

carry their sins to a collective grave

dug deeply under the dust horizon.