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After a considerable amount of time, I finally return to one of my cherished havens.

Nature whispers secrets that words fail to convey.
The wind caresses gently, while seagulls gracefully soar through the sky.
The ever-changing sea takes on mesmerising forms, while crickets in the trees orchestrate their own symphony of life.

Amidst this beauty, I am surrounded by a multitude of distractions, I can hear the melodies of live music playing in a distance...

I yearn to follow a path that defies the current, pulling me in a different direction.

Occasionally, our memories hold a greater allure than the present moment. I contemplate this as I gaze into the depths of this soothing sea of mine.

We yearn for a different reality, one that is more gratifying.

We long for the presence of those who, in a life that’s no more, truly understood us, or for those who know how to comprehend us on a deeper level, who want to see what we see just because they love us and want to connect with us.

Looking back at the door that was your entrance into Paradise… to you, Yanni, I say this:
we shared such a profound connection when you sought permission to leap into the light, that our bond will remain unbroken beyond time and space.

Despite everything else feeling distant, you are close enough to be present in this very moment.

Penny Black ©
Pagan Paul Jul 2023
I was sitting in the waiting room at my GP surgery and noted that there was a distinct lack of reading material provided. Just a couple of leaflets about ****** and a few old Mills & Boon paperbacks.

Mills & Boon, a very strange corner of fiction indeed. A strange corner in which the sight of a ladies bare ankle can cause a dashingly handsome cavalry officer to positively swoon with desire. A strange corner where the mere use of the word 'hosepipe' can cause a nun to blush. A strange corner in which the heaving ***** of an 80 year old great aunt causes palpitations and sweat gland problems for her even older gardener.

Mills & Boon is a very strange corner of fiction indeed. A strange corner that makes Austen and the Bronte sisters  look like purveyors of ****** ****.

I reach for the leaflets, and wait.
Mills & Boon - A popular publication in Britain for the Lady of a certain age and disposition :)
They will fall to the ground...
Blossoms of the cherry tree...
Without you,
being in my womb...
ripening grain,
And the heady scent
of primrose flowers
from the moon...
and his dust...


به روی زمین خواهند ریخت...
شکوفه هايِ درختِ آلبالو...
بی آنکه تو،
در رَحِمَم باشي...
دانه اي،
در حالِ رسیدن...
و عطرِ خوشِ پامچال ها...
از ماه
و خاكِ او....
  Jun 2023 Pagan Paul
Winn
The ticking clock, like gunshots through my head
aimed at my youthful ignorance...
the scent of you still lingers in our bed.

I ghost through space, not living, not yet dead -
straddle chasms of our best intents-
the ticking clock, like gunshots through my head...

My mind still hears the poetry you read,
replays the laugh of youth's exuberance,
the scent of you still lingers in our bed.

I enter empty house now, filled with dread.
I feel your absence, all it represents-
the ticking clock, like gunshots through my head.

A fog billows in, begins to spread,
as death comes to erode all innocence.
The scent of you still lingers in our bed.

My nose has plundered through each precious thread
for faintest linger of your redolence...
the ticking clock, like gunshots in my head.
The scent of you is fading from our bed...



© Mar 2018, Winnie Carolina
18032018

07/21/1954 (08/05/15)-12/07/2022
© Mar 2018, Winnie Carolina
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