SandraDananovi - Hello Poetry

City lights flicker, casting shadows tall, Whispers of evening, in twilight’s fall. Streets hum softly, a nocturnal song, In the heart of darkness, where we all belong. Moon ascends in silence, a guardian in the sky, Stars spill secrets, as constellations sigh. Echoes of footsteps, a dance on cobbled stone, Night embraces the wanderer, the dreamer, the alone. Neon signs pulse, a heartbeat of the street, Mysteries unravel where darkness and light meet. Windows glimmer faintly, lives hidden behind, In the cloak of midnight, stories unwind. Cool breeze carries whispers of distant seas, Rustling leaves murmur, swaying with the trees. A symphony of stillness, the night’s gentle hymn, In its silent chorus, we find solitude within. Night is a canvas, painted in shades of deep, Where dreams take flight, and secrets keep. Beneath its vast expanse, a quiet allure, In the embrace of night, our spirits endure.

0

Aug 24, 2024

Aug 24, 2024 at 6:16 AM UTC

SandraDananovi

NIGHTFALL

City lights flicker, casting shadows tall, Whispers of evening, in twilight’s fall. Streets hum softly, a nocturnal song, In the heart of darkness, where we all belong. Moon ascends in silence, a guardian in the sky, Stars spill secrets, as constellations sigh. Echoes of footsteps, a dance on cobbled stone, Night embraces the wanderer, the dreamer, the alone. Neon signs pulse, a heartbeat of the street, Mysteries unravel where darkness and light meet. Windows glimmer faintly, lives hidden behind, In the cloak of midnight, stories unwind. Cool breeze carries whispers of distant seas, Rustling leaves murmur, swaying with the trees. A symphony of stillness, the night’s gentle hymn, In its silent chorus, we find solitude within. Night is a canvas, painted in shades of deep, Where dreams take flight, and secrets keep. Beneath its vast expanse, a quiet allure, In the embrace of night, our spirits endure.

20

In the hush of morning light, when shadows cling to whispered dreams, a quiet breath, a stilling sigh, the world unfolds in silent seams. Leaves converse in muted tones, a secret held in every breeze, as dawn's soft fingers trace the sky, and silence sets the heart at ease. Echoes of a distant past linger in the voiceless air, a moment wrapped in tender peace, where quiet lives beyond compare. In the silent space between, where thoughts can wander, free to roam, I find a solace, calm and clear, a sanctuary, a quiet home.

0

Jul 31, 2024

Jul 31, 2024 at 7:55 AM UTC

SandraDananovi

In The Quiet

In the hush of morning light, when shadows cling to whispered dreams, a quiet breath, a stilling sigh, the world unfolds in silent seams. Leaves converse in muted tones, a secret held in every breeze, as dawn's soft fingers trace the sky, and silence sets the heart at ease. Echoes of a distant past linger in the voiceless air, a moment wrapped in tender peace, where quiet lives beyond compare. In the silent space between, where thoughts can wander, free to roam, I find a solace, calm and clear, a sanctuary, a quiet home.

16

In the echo of a hollow room, A silence that swallows the moon, Emptiness weaves its quiet loom, Threads of night spun all too soon. Eyes search the shadowed expanse, Fingers trace the absence of chance, Whispers of what was never there, Drift like ghosts through thinning air. Time drips slow, a languid fall, Marking spaces between the all, Words unspoken, an endless call, In the void, where echoes sprawl. A heartbeat, faint, against the black, Yearns for something it can’t track, In the emptiness, a fragile spark, Seeking light in the endless dark.

0

Jul 26, 2024

Jul 26, 2024 at 8:50 PM UTC

SandraDananovi

INTRODUCTION TO EMPTINESS

In the echo of a hollow room, A silence that swallows the moon, Emptiness weaves its quiet loom, Threads of night spun all too soon. Eyes search the shadowed expanse, Fingers trace the absence of chance, Whispers of what was never there, Drift like ghosts through thinning air. Time drips slow, a languid fall, Marking spaces between the all, Words unspoken, an endless call, In the void, where echoes sprawl. A heartbeat, faint, against the black, Yearns for something it can’t track, In the emptiness, a fragile spark, Seeking light in the endless dark.

16

Cover me with the haze of Fragmented years, Let me sleep through this autumn Where rains greedily devour Dying leaves, And streams flow into the rotten silence. Clothe me with the moss Which grew in the wrinkles of the forehead, Make me senseless for the cruel fingers of the northerly wind, And the silver which dwells On Venus Hill, Just leave my eyes naked To count in them rings of the birch tree, Which cut down Our immeasurable distance.

0

Jan 22, 2022

Jan 22, 2022 at 4:27 AM UTC

SandraDananovi

THE BIRCH TREE

Cover me with the haze of Fragmented years, Let me sleep through this autumn Where rains greedily devour Dying leaves, And streams flow into the rotten silence. Clothe me with the moss Which grew in the wrinkles of the forehead, Make me senseless for the cruel fingers of the northerly wind, And the silver which dwells On Venus Hill, Just leave my eyes naked To count in them rings of the birch tree, Which cut down Our immeasurable distance.

15

The windmills swallowed Don Quixote, Ocean spat out Atlantis. Nothing will surprise their hearts Captured by stony aortas. The boy from family portrait on the shelf, Dag his bitten nails into remains of rotten orange (which left the trail in colour of the burning hearth across the sky), And probably not even then, Not once, has he wondered What are the trenches on his mother’s face Channelling salty water From two black amulets. Sister’s arms grew wings and scattered Toward the hanging tree, Row and untouched by loneliness, The dog was staring At the dry terracotta peel, Only the father, Smiling and handsome in a black suit, Resisted the tide of the scorched sunset.

0

Jul 18, 2020

Jul 18, 2020 at 11:09 PM UTC

SandraDananovi

The Family Portrait

The windmills swallowed Don Quixote, Ocean spat out Atlantis. Nothing will surprise their hearts Captured by stony aortas. The boy from family portrait on the shelf, Dag his bitten nails into remains of rotten orange (which left the trail in colour of the burning hearth across the sky), And probably not even then, Not once, has he wondered What are the trenches on his mother’s face Channelling salty water From two black amulets. Sister’s arms grew wings and scattered Toward the hanging tree, Row and untouched by loneliness, The dog was staring At the dry terracotta peel, Only the father, Smiling and handsome in a black suit, Resisted the tide of the scorched sunset.

22

Abandoned childhood home Was still filled with corn bread scent And ethereal steps of heartless motherhood. The music box, found in the corner of the room, laid Full of Mozart and scars, Old cabinet With drawers for storing Always freshly harvested frost, All of that, And rare watermark of father's eye In invisible aquarelle, Forced her to freeze the heart And clenched the fist, Preventing memories to spill over the soul Like the endless field On a cracked palm of the hand.

0

Jul 8, 2020

Jul 8, 2020 at 10:39 AM UTC

SandraDananovi

The field on a cracked palm of the hand

Abandoned childhood home Was still filled with corn bread scent And ethereal steps of heartless motherhood. The music box, found in the corner of the room, laid Full of Mozart and scars, Old cabinet With drawers for storing Always freshly harvested frost, All of that, And rare watermark of father's eye In invisible aquarelle, Forced her to freeze the heart And clenched the fist, Preventing memories to spill over the soul Like the endless field On a cracked palm of the hand.

16

a light shattered in colour of the old paper sailing across the sky an ark webbed by moonlight tread setting free its sails a dream painted on the child's face waking up with its song a light shattered in colour of the old paper...

0

Jul 8, 2020

Jul 8, 2020 at 5:39 AM UTC

SandraDananovi

IMAGINARIUM

a light shattered in colour of the old paper sailing across the sky an ark webbed by moonlight tread setting free its sails a dream painted on the child's face waking up with its song a light shattered in colour of the old paper...

15

In a tear of morning on the fig tree leaf lies the dream about the bird without wings. Bird who sang the silence of aborted memories, drunk the sweat of bedevilled paradise and surrendered to drown in a tear of morning on the fig tree leaf.

0

Jun 23, 2020

Jun 23, 2020 at 1:36 AM UTC

SandraDananovi

The Circle

In a tear of morning on the fig tree leaf lies the dream about the bird without wings. Bird who sang the silence of aborted memories, drunk the sweat of bedevilled paradise and surrendered to drown in a tear of morning on the fig tree leaf.

9