Van Gogh’s Starry Night
I don’t know if I’m alive
Or I live a dream about someone else’s life,
But I like to set sail on the horizon,
Where I can wrap myself in both marine and astral
Where Earthly chaos distorts the Cosmos,
Joyeux cerulean.
Humans, mute audience chocking on Oxygen,
Leaving trails of vivid chemical reactions
(They call them feelings and thoughts).
But the artist, Earth, squeezes Milky Way
into his arteries,
Baptizing lovers in constellations at 3AM.
Raven nightsky with cold silver core
Ceases to exist,
As Berlin Blue with cadmium yellow Moon
In the vision of a lunatic persist.
Or I live a dream about someone else’s life,
But I like to set sail on the horizon,
Where I can wrap myself in both marine and astral
Where Earthly chaos distorts the Cosmos,
Joyeux cerulean.
Humans, mute audience chocking on Oxygen,
Leaving trails of vivid chemical reactions
(They call them feelings and thoughts).
But the artist, Earth, squeezes Milky Way
into his arteries,
Baptizing lovers in constellations at 3AM.
Raven nightsky with cold silver core
Ceases to exist,
As Berlin Blue with cadmium yellow Moon
In the vision of a lunatic persist.
Post-Mortem
May, 2020
I'm the mirror of my shadow,
Enslaved to a soul That always seems to howl. Sorry for the bloodstains, There's not enough space in my veins; They got lost somewhere between two lungs, A place I'm too ashamed to pronounce, not imprisoned in my sickness, Though my skin is full of acid wounds and broken stitches. My poison's drained out of my shell, Nurture to my ghosts that crave to be seen as well. They only dance to my own rhythm, To escape in the outer world they have no freedom. Don't come after me into the dark; What makes you think I'm a moth that needs your spark? I don't worship the Sun in my sight, I worship its skies revived by newborn clouds and feral light. Don't try to save me above all, But you can buy tickets to my downfall. When curtain's down and silence reigns, Don't let soil endure my stains, Take me home near the shore, Let the sand revive my bones, Let the sea reveal my corpse That has been more alive than your idealistic love, Cause I'm not a blooming pale rose. |
Water Psychosis
May, 2020
Shipwrecked in the depths,
Mad sailor in love With the mute chaos Of the sea. Blank canvas on the surface, Afraid to meet an artist, Dressed in marine garment; I drown in the lake. Waves, sweet memory Of my future collapse; Trembling water, you attack me With the claws of reality. |
Marine Alignment
April, 2020
Two atoms
burning on the shore
That's what we were
When we left our home.
My Void of Course Moon-self
Stole my sight
And numbed my sense.
Earth hasn't received me yet,
My shadow still haunts the Pleiades .
Earth hasn't received you yet,
Wavering Sirius,
your cosmic heartbeat can never forget.
Two atoms,
lonely, cursed particles
Who will collide ,
Though, we still burn in daylight.
I no longer claim my reflection,
Throw myself in the ocean
And seek my salvation.
May the waves rip off my skin,
Glimmer as in my ancient dream.
The deepness of the mystery will tell:
Stars align under the sea,
After we said farewell.
burning on the shore
That's what we were
When we left our home.
My Void of Course Moon-self
Stole my sight
And numbed my sense.
Earth hasn't received me yet,
My shadow still haunts the Pleiades .
Earth hasn't received you yet,
Wavering Sirius,
your cosmic heartbeat can never forget.
Two atoms,
lonely, cursed particles
Who will collide ,
Though, we still burn in daylight.
I no longer claim my reflection,
Throw myself in the ocean
And seek my salvation.
May the waves rip off my skin,
Glimmer as in my ancient dream.
The deepness of the mystery will tell:
Stars align under the sea,
After we said farewell.
~Orion, Pleiades, Venus~
~imaginary Sun kissing the nightsky~
Rain, another word for love
April, 2020
Through broken glass
I see myself, A white, faded creature, With flowers growing from my chest. My petals want to dance, But for another soul That I can paint in red And make symphony Out of untouched heartstrings That were numbed before I covered myself In warm, innocent skins. But, what if Petals dance above me? I can hear a shy melody... I said I loved the rain, But I let it kiss the ground, Not my sunburnt skin. And that's how love can sometimes come out of fear of loneliness. |
Lemon tree
March, 2020
Gone are the voices of the mirrors,
They fear the silenced ghosts
Who send to war poor, lost souls,
A war with no guns and weapons,
Our lungs are breathing fire and smoke
We surrender!
Time is melting on the windows,
We don't count days, we count victims,
But music keeps singing!
I was reading about hell under a lemon tree,
Now snow is dancing around me,
But music keeps singing!
They fear the silenced ghosts
Who send to war poor, lost souls,
A war with no guns and weapons,
Our lungs are breathing fire and smoke
We surrender!
Time is melting on the windows,
We don't count days, we count victims,
But music keeps singing!
I was reading about hell under a lemon tree,
Now snow is dancing around me,
But music keeps singing!
Love is not (an) art
March, 2020
I'm a seed,
Crawling through dirt, Growing in shadows. But they say I bloom in light, Is that true? Sun burns my rotten skin, Sky is a faded tint, That keeps me prisoner In the coffin of my existence. I'm a traveler, an empty vessel Searching for a tear To fall on my cold shell So I can learn how to feel. Now, my chest is warm, The breeze whirls inside Crimson red, violet and blue Are the shades of my eyes. My heartbeat sings a song, The story of my life, The language of my soul That has just fallen from the sky So I can bloom in the light. I learned how to live, I learned how to love, how to love life, So love is not (an) art. |
Forest
March, 2020
I leave the Earth to go back home.
The stars don’t want me, I’m all alone.
My fingers are numbed, but my ribs are warm,
So life doesn’t give me the deadly silver,
I’m stuck between the void and the gory river.
I pray to no one that the sun won’t rise,
As it will burn the life
Out of a happy corpse
That forgot to water her warrior white rose.
I follow my path, I’m all alone,
For the first time, I feel like I am home
In a forest with no trees
Where old ghosts are greeting me in peace.
They are alive ‘cause I used to sing to them
Now, they’re dancing on their own in the misty air,
But they never touch the ground,
Demons may crawl back at the slightest sound.
The stars don’t want me, I’m all alone.
My fingers are numbed, but my ribs are warm,
So life doesn’t give me the deadly silver,
I’m stuck between the void and the gory river.
I pray to no one that the sun won’t rise,
As it will burn the life
Out of a happy corpse
That forgot to water her warrior white rose.
I follow my path, I’m all alone,
For the first time, I feel like I am home
In a forest with no trees
Where old ghosts are greeting me in peace.
They are alive ‘cause I used to sing to them
Now, they’re dancing on their own in the misty air,
But they never touch the ground,
Demons may crawl back at the slightest sound.
The Anatomy of Death
(the 5 elements)
(the 5 elements)
February, 2020
You're a human in the light, That breaths the air below the surface (air) And your heart is the spark to ignite If you want to uncast old curses. (fire) Your eyes are deep, tremendous oceans, Secrets are drowning in the silent tides, (water) A place where the Moon has lost its notion, As here is born the prophecy from the old tribes: You're a writer in the dark, The wind itself above the sky, (spirit) Who doesn't need the stars to spark, As in the shadow of the Moon is where you cry. Time is captured through your words, But down there, the eternal night has come And your veins water the ground, in the song of a dying swan. (earth) A part of your home is what you'll become, Your heart will bloom as a rose, forgotten by everyone. |
I was stargazing, but instead I started the Apocalypse
February, 2020
I am lost in the silence of night,
With a hungry soul on my sleeve, Only the cosmic jive can offer me what I need, 'Cause my lonely body is out of sight. I was born under the Balsamic Moon, When the veil between the worlds was thin, For me, talking to the stars is not a sin, So I leave this Earth in a shade of gloom. I disappear to complete my constellation, Venus is screaming at my frozen window, About my destiny, he did a subtle innuendo: I have to destroy the laws of creation. I am punished by the evanescent humanity, But Death can't endure the lack of gravity. So my heartbeat starts to flicker, As a trail on the sky it will linger; And the reaper with the scythe is lost in the oblivion, Humans are trapped forever on Earth, what a delirium! Spirits play with children on the streets, While ghosts kiss the loners as a sign of peace. Apocalypse is just a play, when you are a star that cannot freeze. |
~Photos taken by a friend, when we were hunting stars together~ |
Paradox
February, 2020
I write poems on sacred corpses,
Praising their alive divinity;
Yet children murder the ancient purity
And my hands are full of white roses.
I write poems about celestial Gods,
Pretending to sleep under a flashlight
'Cause I feel lonely in infernal night,
But who am I to question human odds?
We all fall asleep,
But why do we burn in flames so deep,
And find the breeze of peace near the Sun?
Two places where the fate can't be undone.
Praising their alive divinity;
Yet children murder the ancient purity
And my hands are full of white roses.
I write poems about celestial Gods,
Pretending to sleep under a flashlight
'Cause I feel lonely in infernal night,
But who am I to question human odds?
We all fall asleep,
But why do we burn in flames so deep,
And find the breeze of peace near the Sun?
Two places where the fate can't be undone.
Places where I go
( I’ve met myself somewhere, but I forgot)
( I’ve met myself somewhere, but I forgot)
February, 2020
Time hasn’t been born yet,
But melodies are sung.
I belong to an old soul,
With eyes that have only seen a silent lake.
Find “me” by the sea shore,
Writing my story in the honest sand,
Then I watch the waves
Stealing pieces of “me”
Somewhere only the wreckage has reached.
But I don’t know who I am,
They erased “me” from my memory,
I am everywhere, yet nowhere.
I am rustling through blank pages,
Wondering how many words will I bleed
‘Till I’m fully drained?
I wrote it in the daylight,
But now the Sun has set.
But melodies are sung.
I belong to an old soul,
With eyes that have only seen a silent lake.
Find “me” by the sea shore,
Writing my story in the honest sand,
Then I watch the waves
Stealing pieces of “me”
Somewhere only the wreckage has reached.
But I don’t know who I am,
They erased “me” from my memory,
I am everywhere, yet nowhere.
I am rustling through blank pages,
Wondering how many words will I bleed
‘Till I’m fully drained?
I wrote it in the daylight,
But now the Sun has set.
I hate describing myself
January,2020
In another world I would be a lyric from a poem that I’ll never write. There will be a violent hurricane that will set a 2002 year old tree on fire, and the howling wind will rip off a blue-green piece of velvet from the dress of a lady who sings hard rock in a jazz bar. On that piece of velvet, the ashes from the tree will be carved and they will translate a verse from a beating heart. The verse will contain 28 letters and I will be reborn. Then, when the lightning strikes for 5 times, I will be thrown far away in the ocean and I will become one with the underworld and I will find my spirit in the vibration of the waves. Maybe this is exactly what I am in this life, too: a soft surface touched by the fury of the fire in a language that I still don’t understand.
The Birth of a Spirit
February, 2020
|
Today, I woke up by the river,
My nightmare caused my body a strong shiver: In my mind I was blinded by the city lights It was crowded and it felt like walking alone in the night. They were all covered in dull paint And their souls were struggling not to faint. Bottles of happiness were for sale in stores While the old poets were dying on the shelves, battling in the world's wars. The others were too busy slaughtering their wings, Poisoning with carelessness their youngest dreams. My eyes become the river, But it makes no sense 'cause I'm no sinner. I start drinking the core of my feelings, So I'll never get to their shallow ceilings. But I let a few drops fall on the ground To plant the seed of humanity that should be all around. And they'll become poetry that one day will hopefully make a sound. |
Our life has heavy wings
February, 2020
.A moment is our life,
A moment is a butterfly, That hustles in our heart. Our heart is a muscle, But it's not strong enough To carry the weight of the thoughts That run through our brains. The Butterfly flies high in the daylight And it writes our story on the clouds. But someday, after a few sunsets and sunrises, We sit at dawn by the window And we remember! Somehow the window gets blurry And we feel a breeze on the shoulder. It's that moment, but with wax wings, It carves on us three warm drops: Past, Present and Future. The butterfly catches a different shape now, The next time it visits us It will be a distortion in reality, But for now, the clock is melting on the wall. |
-Butterflies in History- |
Wine-Stained Manifesto
February, 2020
My veins are deep blue-purple rivers,
My soul is a pellucid light bulb That attracts spineless creatures. Today, I'm bleeding in waves, I reveal my tiny Universe into theirs. I paint with fire the lovers' flower, I let their passion devour the world 'till the witching hour At last their softness turns into long-lost Scarlet letters. I throw daggers in the clear blue sky, The clouds catch crimson flames, as Phoenix feathers And the Moon starts singing a lullaby. Lonely I wander the crowded town, Nobody sees the havoc of the blood stains That happened on my ivory-white gown, Because they are all humans in chains So I tell them it's only holy wine And their eyes get blurry in time. |
The Time Trilogy
February, 2020
Past and Future,
They both happen right now in your mind,
They have more colors than in Present you can find.
But they either shine too bright
Or they reflect a faded rainbow in the night.
They are still in the back of your head, but they never blend,
Creating a script that the Present will commend .
You are right now under three great skies,
They are all ruled by the same Sun, that never dies.
But on each sky there is a different constellation
And that's how fate will read in the stars your revelation.
They both happen right now in your mind,
They have more colors than in Present you can find.
But they either shine too bright
Or they reflect a faded rainbow in the night.
They are still in the back of your head, but they never blend,
Creating a script that the Present will commend .
You are right now under three great skies,
They are all ruled by the same Sun, that never dies.
But on each sky there is a different constellation
And that's how fate will read in the stars your revelation.
Bittersweet Irony
January, 2020
Once, I was a forget-me-not flower that thrived in the sweetness of your sunshine. I had never met the shadow and I was on the verge of getting burnt. Somehow, the unholy disaster happened, you forgot about me and I turned dry and cold. Now, I'm captured in a white, empty vase, dying of thirst on the windowsill. Outside, it's a bitter rainy day and I'm watching my salvation pouring down, through the transparency of the barrier that holds my fate and I curse the ground for growing green.(Eventually, she broke the glass made out of fears and frozen tears. She stepped into the storm and grew some thorns, but she kept dancing with the Sun.)
High Level of Toxicity
February, 2020
You turned the harsh back of indifference on me and it felt like sharp ice, cutting down the rope that was keeping me sane. Now, I poison myself with rage and hatred and my blood turns black, ashes of an Angel I’d been before. My left hand holds a gun that I never knew I had in posession and the chemicals make me pull the trigger. In the middle of your glowing laughter, you fell down on the ground made out of memories, bursting into flames. I thought I had a sigh of relief, but I was full of heavy stains.
But who are these new people now?
Why are they laughing along with me When I tell them I have bodies burried in the garden?
Couldn’t they see I was coming back from a funeral, wearing all white, my skin was carved and I was bleeding ashes?
I was wearing white...
But I enjoyed their blindness and I became one of them, pretending it was Summer, but my soul was in Winter. After I’ve ignored the freezing wind for the longest time, I heard a song for the first time and I remembered everything. I went back barefoot to the garden and your grave was burning hot. Eventually, it started snowing and the snow was glowing.
But who are these new people now?
Why are they laughing along with me When I tell them I have bodies burried in the garden?
Couldn’t they see I was coming back from a funeral, wearing all white, my skin was carved and I was bleeding ashes?
I was wearing white...
But I enjoyed their blindness and I became one of them, pretending it was Summer, but my soul was in Winter. After I’ve ignored the freezing wind for the longest time, I heard a song for the first time and I remembered everything. I went back barefoot to the garden and your grave was burning hot. Eventually, it started snowing and the snow was glowing.
From Atom to Art
December, 2019
Cosmic particles are in a brownian movement through an enormous cell that lives around a blue, doomed and fuzzy core (or at least we think it is the core). Some impostor creatures with electrical bounds that put in motion a ropy, crimson liquid are dancing around restlessly looking for something greater, something that will collide them forever with the galactic jive. But what is hidden Away from them with vehemence is that they are made of millions of atoms. Atoms that were once the heart of galaxies, of stars, of the almighty Sun, of the dark side of the Moon. They are the cell itself. They own magic that defines their entities. They just had to dance naked and barefoot in the grass When the sky was alive to realise that. Now they made art. Because life imitates art.
-The first Full Moon of the decade-
How it was to feel alive
December,2019
I stayed in the rain when I couldn’t bear my numbness anymore, when my eyes turned grey and I became a fake piece of paper floating in the air. The rain was heavy and violent, it was freezing cold (But I was alive). Then the hail took over (I wasn’t scared)and the ice was falling to destroy the warm beauty of the Earth( I was finally feeling something). The thunder forced the nature to hide in the darkest corners ( I was hearing music). The lightning was meant to bring deadly fire among stillness (I was shining). The Apocalypse was gone and I became a rainbow in the clear blue sky.
An itch in my lungs
Part I
Part I
January, 2020
It’s 3:58 AM and I’m pretty sure I’m in my bed. I feel a harsh wind howling and trembling on my cheek but I don’t bother, maybe I just have a vivid dream. It’s weird, I swear I can feel a familiar sight on my numbed body, but I keep my eyes closed; Sirius may be flickering again on my window.Suddenly, a memory of me and my grandma planting tulips in the garden comes back in flashes. Why? Because a humid, earthly smell lingers in my room. Is it really my room? I want to feel safe again so I try to grab my sheets but instead I lose my hands into a dense smoke that pulls me swiftly on the cold, dirty mud. I open my eyes and two black pearls are staring fiercely at me. Somehow, they look utterly familiar, like they’d been a part of me before and I get paralyzed by an empty feeling. I should’ve felt fear but I’d burnt it a while ago in the North of my backyard. I poured it out of myself on a piece of crimson red paper and I set it on fire. I let the flames devour my demons but I forgot they feed up with smog and breathe harsh smoke. My fears have risen back from the ashes, ready to banish me into my grave. Now, I feel an itch in my lungs, the shadow creeps into me again to claim me as their humble vessel. I tried to scream, but the world of obscurity doesn’t have echoes; my thoughts are doomed in silence. The itch became an icy claw, finding slowly but surely the way to my beating heart. But the final crime wasn’t committed because your hand came along for me and I caught a breath of fresh air in the pale moonlight. You were covered in dried out mud and your eyes were black; What did you bury before you pulled me from the dirt? We both know you weren’t meant to save me from myself anyway.
|
An itch in my lungs
Part II |
January, 2020
You wanted us to disappear
In eternal light, fairytale with no fear. You wanted me to leave my shadow, But I'll never ever leave my soul so hollow. You showed me a clear blue sky, birds chirping in the torrid sunshine. But I can't cling to something that's not mine. My skin is fragile, my eyes are grey, Your Sun is trying to show me the divine way, But I won't follow. I want to go back in the violent rain, To collide with my dark remain. So I've vanished at Midnight And I followed my Moonlight. My darling ghost, my deadly weapon, Here you are on my grave open. I promise I won't burn you this time And I hope you won't commit the final crime. Your black pearls belong to me Your dirty-silver form completes me. I can hear the ravens singing And I can see your shadow trembling. I danced with you without the guns, Again I felt an itch in my lungs, But this time I didn't scream in pain, I embraced my darkness and it wasn't in vain. I saved myself. |
Author
Petrescu Cristina
Petrescu Cristina