Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I dreamed of thee again last night-so frustrating. I still miss thee. I have to admit that. I can no longer deny it. I still want thee back. I want thee back. My thee, o, my thee, Vladimir! In my mind I keep but playing those scenes over and over again; those scenes full of temptations-and breaths gasping more freshness under the sheets of our romantic air-which are no other than the beautiful, picturesque paintings of the days of our togetherness. Those rapturous paintings-sketched carefully by the jealous winds-outside of my bedchamber, wherein adjacent to the rolling fireside thou would caress my hair and smile at me with that serene blueness of thy eyes. And how as soon as those moments came, I would close my eyes, and lay my head against thy cleavage-and its steady, luminous heartbeat; and flew I through the wings of enthralled unconsciousness-as though I was floating in the sky; and then believe would I, that yon bubble of sophisticated happiness would never end. But thou! Thou ruined everything-and that idyllic, idyllic blue castle of mine as soon as thou walked away. Ah! And didst I cry back then, cry whenever I woke up and found that thou wert gone, and it was only thy scents that were left all over me. What a horrible memory! The remembrance of thy blissful eyes-o, a pair of majestic blue eyes!-and thy golden hair, flowing smoothly against mine on that tranquil night, is but a wealth of fondness too dear, yet unbearable-to me. Full of tears are my eyes, as I am writing t'is sorrowful passage, that might still mean nothing-nothing, to thee. But I doth need to be honest! It might just be too late to say this, but I need thee, Vladimir. I need thee! Thou art the only miracle that has ever happened to me, since I first heaved my steps onto this land: this foreign land with a stash of autumnal stars grinning at us from the sleepy eyes of the sky. The sky-o the sky, whose innocent blueness is just as handsome as thy eyes! Thou consoled my fear, and relieved my sarcastic anxiety-in those first, first days! How thou silently-yet joyfully, entered my heart! My prince, my soul. How I want us to be back together-embracing each other under the clouds' mesmerizing lullaby. I who can never love him-the one everyone dear to me so excitedly raves at. No-never, although from the same kin is he, as thou art, with that flash of wild black eyes running vivaciously at every appearance of my being. And those queries he always puts-yes, on my series of daily runabouts, and keen interests in which I immerse myself during my solitudes. A smile so charming then he shows-but still, unable is he to bring my heart to galloping excitements, nor shake my soul with adorable passion, like thou didst! And no! He is but no lover I wish for-as far as I'th ventured to recognise, as in my heart still hides thy name, dwelling so quietly with bursts of violent fascination. And the red blushes it sends to my cheeks-whenever I think of thee. Vladimir! The prince to my love-today and yesterday-for whom my affection shalt never fade; and the sole king to my being-all through the year, and the remaining hours of my night and day-for whom my soul was duly made. O Vladimir! I love thee, I love thee! Come back and cherish thy days here, wander back into my heart-and celebrate this innocent mirth of ours, just like we once had before-with our hands together, whilst thy heart in mine, amidst t'is silent afternoon-and ah, under tonight's marvelous moon.
How th' very mention of my lover's name, still makes me even rock with helpless vigor! And red doth I become, painstakingly red, until t'ey hath no more choice but swivel around until everything, everything of t'eir collective bodies is but a giddy blur in th' young-capacious distance; and rapidly doth I slosh forward afterwards; like a blade of remorse being sadistically hurtled onto th' chest of a savage, lying clairvoyant. But killeth him it not; ah! Just like a maturing star-guess, my ardent reader-how it flashes-piercingly, and flows about-doubtfully, with a swamp of questions in its godly eyes, before stabbing itself calmly, into th' realm of holiness on its side! I am t'at blade, yes-t'at blameless blade-guileless and chaste just as its courteous rim hath never hurt any life. And I indeed am, t'day! Wordlessly doth they bound away, o, until t'eir lithe figures art but th' mercenary of a trifling shadow of consecutive breaths on a faraway ground, meanwhile storm I, plausibly, into th' nearest ajar door! What a gouty, sickly constitution doth it bear on its wooden shoulder; clogged by dewy sobs it wasth-with droplets of girlish rains giggling to and churning about its hinges! How cruel indeed, t'is oddity is! But canst no-thing refraineth me onceth more from smiling, as now I doth know th' very luck of mine-and its returned feelings, today! Perhaps, just perhaps, he might have simply been too bashful to utter any due phrases. Still, grinning quietly in my new knowledge of womanly joy, ah! Leap I upwards and into my plump room, to supersede my obstinate foggy layers-prior to my other subsequent journey-oh, on discovering my truthful lover in his current runabouts, and accomplishing my destiny-by surrendering my crown into his charms, and truest affection, finally! Shaking all over with passion and speedy heartbeat, petulant bursts of laughter doth I t'en utter, and danced about as I doth-majestically, until my heart is thoroughly enveloped, and sanguinely bathed, in its long-lost, principally sought-after pools of happiness. Laugh doth I, in incurable fascination! As t'is day hath just been too exquisite-yes, too frantically ecstatic, reader, to be inanely waned away-without any poem; ah, especially with all th' virile, ye' soothing, humming of th' boyish songbird! And shrink I again into acute-o, even unhealable felicity, upon harking to th' panoramic-and harmonious scene t'at's all enlight'ening th' tender ambiance of affection, out t'ere. What a perfect concord as it is, with t'is inevitably dear-and o, invincible loving feeling of mine. Oh, my Kozarev, I have only words to play with!
Rakuli Aug 2011
Today I strode the road from my abode to the ocean.
Straight to the sea it takes me East.
Normally a feast for the eyes,
Today I walk while the sun does rise.
The blinding light so bright removes my sight
I listen the world.

The wind through the leaves of the trees,
A world at ease.
The breeze interrupted by the wheeze of a car.
A scar to mar the aural vista.


The world’s heart pounds
With the sound of my feet on the ground
A jack-hammer resounds abounding,
Interrupting the surrounds abruptly,
Like a palpitating heart getting a defibrillator restart.


From the trees birds whistle melodies
I hum thirds, fifths, the harmonies
Vibrato offered by the bees,
Percussion from the choppy seas.
A horn rings out, commuters shout
The rhythm and the tone falls out,
Slow, fast, sharp, flat all about.

As my feet reach and breach the beach,
Far enough from the road’s screech
I hear the ocean preach in a speech to me.
Whispered accents on each word.
It sighs defeated, it feels mistreated
It sings songs not yet completed
But interrupted by man’s conceited need to sing his own song.
The wrong song for too long.

The sun falls behind a cloud
Removing the shroud,
Showing the crowd singing so loud on the shore
I close my eyes to block them out,
To listen as the world’s song sprouts
I want the ocean, the trees and the world to shout
Loud enough to drown us out
Us petty little runabouts.
We came here last and we won’t last if we try to move around so fast.

Stop.
Listen to the breeze through the trees.
Dream dreams of a world at ease.
SassyJ Jan 2017
The last time the river beds drowned*
you knocked by the door and offered
sinking dreams of whales and fails
doomed stars burnt in flooded skies
tainted leaves heaved on angled heavens
visions of torture in trodden deserts
tensions of fractured love inserts

On the bridge of ambivalence, I tossed a coin
a plank set adorned with red ankh signatures
I took your hand, you drooling phantom!
It's nearly a year now, in your world runabouts
another day, a heavier destination, a hesitation
the silence, the demise, the whining ice arise
absent shoulders eating my independence

The freedom you longed in the winter breaks
dissipates thinly in the thunder stroked flakes
and the tears dried and my summer suffice
confronted by an endless long year in the cold bed
covered by conversations of the specter sceptered specks
deranged by miles and the longed played nights
on a realisation that you were never really there

Fleet along young one, the years are a swift ear
listening continuously, whilst switching promptly
making dreams from a mould of changing trims
flinching, twitching perceptions of new beginnings
for I no longer stay at the phone reaching, waiting
nor stay in the patch of haunted misery and hate
*join the next column and stop treading in my camp
Fleetwood Mac : Dreams
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrZRURcb1cM

— The End —