I have nothing special to offer.
I am just a handful of stardust.
If I fit your sky, smudge me on it.
If you can dance to the music
that puts my particles into motion,
take me, lie next to me and melt
while it caresses us …
If you can hear my eyes whisper
like I can hear yours
put your arms around me and be.
If the night calls you to stare at the moon,
Join me on the roof and talk to me
till the dawn comes and washes us away.
I am all yours.
Apparently, we reflect each other’s lights
not letting them die.
There are men who deserve to be loved
just because of their eyes, naked souls
which whisper straight to your heart.
Star dust, soulmate, God’s elemt.
Call it whatever you want,
there are no words explaining that bond.
Men you do not need to meet or touch
to offer them all the world’s love
right from the moment you first heard them,
or looked into their pure, heavenlish sad eyes.
Only God knows why we miss them when they are gone.
Why we feel like if someone ripped out a piece of us…
A piece we never knew we had.
And probably only God knows why
men who deserve that kind of
unconditional, inexplainable love
decide to give up and leave
while our hearts are broken into pieces
and refuse to accept their absence.
Even wind smells, feels and sounds like them…
In loving memory of magical Chris Cornell who has touched my life in a very strange and inexplainable way about 8 years ago… My heart, my mind will always miss your sparkle…
She dropped off her
red dress and sunnish wreath.
Walked through the town naked.
Everything went silent.
Her body was steaming
as she swayed in the chilly, evening air.
I was left in the middle of a
soft, scented fog
with a bouquet of dried roses.
Before she washed away behind clouds,
in the dimmed moonlight,
I felt her silky lips
kissing me goodbye.
Magic got soaked back into the sky
to float among the star dust.
I will wait for you to make it rain.
There is a rocky path,
small fields on the left
and a mysterious forest on the right,
Cold creek among the trees
running towards the lake.
A red short wall decorated with nettles
and a gate at the end of the road.
Winding hill, red brick steps on the side
with cones spread all around,
just like if someone dropped them in a hurry.
At the top of the hill, right behind the bushes
a castle surrounded by acacias.
In front of the entrance a nut-tree.
Further, rabbits, swings, a sandpit and a slide.
A small beach at the bottom of the hill
with a thick chain at the entrance
and a leaning willow at the bank,
next to a rusty, creaky pier.
Warm raindrops dripping from the sun,
air filled with whispers, magic and wild mint.
Black night sprinkled with stars
mirrored in the surface of the lake.
God loves his witches.
Listens to their prayers,
Every fall drinks a cup
full of their tears, screams and whispers
and brings them back to life.
Decorates their paths
with rain of golden leaves,
baths them in the evening fog.
Women with burned roses pinned in hair,
eyes as cold and hypnotizing
as the moon enlightening the sky.
Each year they fall in love
with the sounds of wind
dancing in the streets.
God kisses them goodnight
blurring sweet, chilly air
on their tired faces.
Last night I got a call.
– The fall is coming.
The moon is getting brighter, bigger.
Air is getting sweeter, full of magic.
Star dust is sprinkling from the sky
and even pill popping ghosts are growing wings.
Knit me a dress from the evening fog
and watch me shimmer in a dim light of street lamps.
Back home wrap a blanket around my naked shoulders,
hand me a mug of hot, jasmine tea
and let in that chilly wind knocking at the window,
whispering all the secret spells, wishes, dreams…
I hid mine in the eyes, scared to say them out loud,
for during the fall everything can happen.
Especially when you are a witch.