.
She sits for most of the time,
in a metal chair with wheels.
Counting out the value of life
with an injury that never heals.

She waits for most of the time,
to confirm that she is really there.
But how many people notice her
sat down in her wheel-chair.

She's invisible for most of the time,
she is there but nobody spies.
So she spreads her tiny wings
and floats unnoticed to the skies.

She cried for most of the time,
always alone and lonely in a crowd.
Now flying free her spirit rises,
there's no discrimination in the clouds.


© Pagan Paul (25/12/16)

We're in the sun and I'm moving from your mouth
to your jeans, we're watching the stars and we're moving
We're going down the green boulevard and we're cruising
you speak Romanian, I speak you, we're going to far
and moving to the beat as one and the wind blows the hair
in my face and I got news for you, I can see you just clearly
as I could before, carefully, barely hanging on and catching movies

I can't keep away from your kiss, back and forth want to feel
the rest of you and all of you can't wait to catch you all alone
we're in the sun and I'm moving from your mouth
to the hole in your heart, tell me how you feel and who you are
you speak barely, your rhythmic breaths tell me all I need to know
waste the day and spend all the time in your pockets, all alone
floating around your head and hanging midair in your palms like
a red balloon

.

    Memories
    are like
     footprints
        in the sand.

         They tell...
          In so many
          fragmented
          tales,
         where you
         came from.

        How far
       you've walked.
       How lightly
       you've trodden.
        And how hard
         you've dug
          your toes
            in deep.

             But...
             Unlike
              footprints,
            memories
           don't get
           washed away
            so easily
             by the tide.

.

these words cannot ever rescue the most dour of our individual angsts
they change nothing in the end cry out cry  out
sustain nor feed another make a smile appear out of a tear
but they contain my thoughts my feelings for
all of you
these words just appear to be grateful
in the end they sing a sad song for all
those lost and tenuous those
who hurt feel alone bad
I have felt those hurts too
it makes no difference writing them
except to scourge my mind
be a little more
cleansed
myself

Asleep in ice,
hardened by the winds of winter

Only to awaken
and thaw with the rise of spring

Harnessing the sun
and frolic in the rays of summer

Bedtime is soon near,
as the leaves start browning

I wrote letters
for myself
five years from now
telling him
that it's okay
to cry
once in a while
that tears
are not a sign
of weakness
but an emotion
taking shape
freeing itself
from the binds of body.

I comfort him
with lies
telling him
that if he waits
eventually
everything will
turn out
fine,
that the fire
won't burn as much
if left untouched

I tell him
that broken guitars
can sing too.
Out of tune
maybe
but the melody
is there
howling
on the moon
and the shadows
are its audience.

I convince him
to tuck himself on bed
every night
and sleep
to count the sheep
and drift away
without the help
of tears.

I tell him
that I hope
five years from now
that he reads
these letters,
that i pray
it won't be left
unread
collecting dust
in the corner
of an empty room
deprived of joy
and life.

When tears stain the ground and the salt settles in the earth, seeds will lie still in the ground. The sorrow of a broken heart will lay heavy in the air. Many will long for spring to return, but sorrow lingers as the cold of winter. Love longed for fails to return and a dark shadow blocks out the sun. No flowers will grown or bud until the bleakness has been lifted. Until then I will sit in longing, waiting for the sun to shine again so that I can smell the sweet fragrance of gardens full of blossoms.