Frozen Sparks (1) (PDF)

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These verses are dedicated to you,
Yes you,
who is reading this right now, and is still standing despite all the bullshit;
and is beautiful,
and lovely,
and fierce.
But these poems are exclusively dedicated to,
the most beautiful man on earth,
who inspired these verses in a situation when my life was a wasteland,
and planted forget-me-nots in my garden.
He is Satan without a flaw.

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PROLOGUE

Tonight,
I desire to read all the lovely verses laced with pain
And be a drunkard,
Drunk senseless on the ache without a name.
Life depends on the arrangement of twenty six letters.
It can smash your soul like dried cedar leaves,
crushed slowly inside your palm.
Am I disturbed or am I calm.
Maybe both?
Someone once said I wanted two impossible things at once.
I do.
What fun, to have absolutely nothing,
But craving absolutely everything,
Like a madman at the last stages of his crazed existence.
I want the open valleys and the thirsty deserts
spreading endlessly across continents,
The lovely seashore with its conchshells littered along with human waste.
I want to huddle around bonfires
and write pages inside tents,
And dance tameless during tempests full of rage and haste.
I want it all, I want it all.
I love you for the simple reason you exist,
Or maybe its hatred of the highest degree,
bordering on insanity,
Did I forge your identity?
Did I fill your hollows and paint you flawless,
And get carried away in this life of lovelessness?
If yes, what a fool I have been.
But you're the wildest beauty I have ever seen.
I cannot unlove you even if I try
excavating my flesh and ripping away my lungs
You're in my system, you're in my veins:
Like the last bloodbag attached to the dying man,
Drip, drip, drip, drip
And the final cruel twist of a knife.

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Empty Coffee Cups.

"You and I
Lost in the streets, which sparkle yellow and gold
Beautiful sunsets, or have you gotten used to the beauty around you?
I haven't.
You and I
With our empty coffee cups and empty hearts
Weaving garlands out of broken dreams and contempt unspoken, untold.
You and I
Drunk on wine and poetry
Can you feel connected to genuine, simple things
Or are you tangled in your own lies?
I am not.
Or maybe I am, I don't know.
You and I
Pure skin, gently whispering
Ugly tales, neglected truths, too cruel for the world
Returning to our emptiness.
Empty words, empty hearts and empty coffee cups."

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Enchanted.

"If it were a cold November night,
with a howling storm outside my cosy home.
Rattling the glass windows with such urgency and haste,
and making we want to light the fireplace,
and have roasted apples and buns
Also maybe some marmalade.
I can show you happiness in a cupful of ground coffee beans,
and in the sin my eyes commit every time I stare at your face.
You were staring into space,
and I was staring at you.
Staring, wondering, dreaming, yearning, longing:
but I continue to stare,
as I just stood there,
tracing the outline of your jawbone with my eyes.
It is frightening what a few well defined bones and expressions
can do to another soul.
You've a mouth to die for.
Oh, yes. That Adams apple,
which vibrates as you speak.
I am sitting on my couch on a cold November night,
and here you are.
Maybe just eating roasted apples and marmalade,
Maybe just watching something on tv,
Maybe just sighing out names of other pretty faces,
But I simply watch you weaving magic,
without having absolutely no idea
About the effect you can have on another soul.
What does an artist need more?
On a cold November night in her warm, cosy home,
Such a blasphemous sight,
Of beauty existing on its own."

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Heart Shaped Box

The infinities stare at me, begging to be noticed
The purple sky calms me better than my therapy sessions;
Velvet cushions and hot tea make perfect sense
"Let's hallucinate"- my thoughts whispered
And there I was.
Huddled tight and safe in the arms of that beautiful boy,
Strong, lean, sinewy. Us locked together
Like a heart shaped box that Cobain sang about.
I've fallen for pretty boys before
But he is so beautiful.
No, no catalogues describing him like an exquisite location
I wouldn't do that - it would just ruin everything. Though,
You cannot create ruins out of empty vacuum.
But I'm an unusual girl, I desire the same things poor Sylvia wanted,
Because some things never lose their value
And some people are just maddeningly unforgettable.

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Howl.

The streets were suffocated with smog,
which invaded and claimed every shady corner,
much like the arrogant hipsters, their blood vessels throbbing with
adrenaline. Boosted by
sex and ultra violence,
dissolved with twisted ideas of happiness and peace,
cocaine in their veins, poison in their lungs,
they're out to change the world.
Those pretty little apartments we all dream of,
have their own little ugly fables to tell.
The walls have seen nasty brawls,
bleeding mouths and jaws, petty squabbles over money, women
and ego.
Spoons full of sugar, tea and toast, cake and marmalade do not
make a household,
Floors sprawled with skirts discarded in lust and violence,
Unseen blood splatters, pieces of a broken heart..
Fragments of a meaningless existence.
Look at the world.
Cheating, lies and manipulation are the new garments we wear,
Flesh and masks mingle, broken souls.. who are you?
Who do you want to be?
And
Who do you have to be?
Mortal hunger and howls are more terrifying than that of beasts,
We are free.
Oh, is that so?
Cannibalism is a criminal offence, they say
But nobody talks about how we feed on
fears, doubts, feelings and insecurities of other people.
How suicide is cowardly But those people who actually pulled the trigger aren't.
Oh, we love illusions, dont we?
We are free.

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On A Moonlit Night

"Maybe that's why all kinds of relationships in my life haven't worked.
Maybe I am just too much to comprehend.
Too overwhelmingly deep, too brazenly emotional.
I offer too much, expecting twice as more, but I end up receiving a quarter of what I gave, or worse nothing.
All my insecurities, inadequacies are so blatantly out in the open, that people leave.
Its not like I am the only one, there are others like me: just better, able, mature at hiding it.
As for me, the mask is slipping, the more, the worse.
Everyone is leaving, becoming distant, and becoming irrelevant.
Again, there are the ones who terribly matter to me, people who will forget about me in a matter of a
few moments, but I would give up my life for the same people, in a heartbeat."

Thought Bubbles.

"The people I fall for are like stars in the sky. So tempting, so attractive, so mysterious, so
invigorating.
Yet so distant, so unaffected, so unattainable that it is promised only after death or in a fairytale."

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Soap Bubbles

Warm soap bubbles engulfed me like flames
As I closed my eyes,
and thought, and thought and thought.
As you know I think a lot.
Soap bubbles and thought bubbles become one and the same,
As I sink deeper into the tub of mad obsession,
Craving possession,
Handling rejection,
Watch me, as I murder in order to invent another creation.
I destroy myself
and disintegrate into smithereens
To create fantasies
About you and me.
I can never become the poem,
so I am the poet instead,
Lashing words like thunder:
I intend to make the world tremble
And etch your beauty in nature's pages.
I am still sunk in warm soap bubbles
and hot bubbles of thought.
Just so you know.
You laughed once,
and it rang in my ears forever.
God, it still chimes like those timeless symphonies by Chopin,
I am thinking a lot underwater,
My breath is short,
My eyes closed,
Then I gasp and resurface like a mermaid,
As I gasp for air and affection.
But as you know,
mermaids are but mere fiction.
Figments of our lovely imagination.
Still sunk in warm soap bubbles,
indents on my hands and slender fingers.
I am making daisy chains out of our late night conversations,
Which perhaps mean nothing,
And doesn't amount to anything,
But it just involves me and you,
And that's all that matters
to me.
Sunk in warm soap bubbles