Poem: Human voice

silence entwined with birth and death

a companion of that eternal second

when the ears hurt in anticipation what follows next

a human voice trapped beneath the veil

I gaze at the sky and listen

if clouds will rain down the words

you may have told me once

somewhere between making lunch and cleaning the house

as my curious hands searched for gold I lost in the sandpit

I remember your smile shinning above me

as my fingertips spilled red colour over whatever they touched

I was hungry for your wisdom and mysteries you held

my youth kept me from understanding and remembering

we were spending time with animals and fields

your body already carrying a fatal secret

I slept in your bed when death came

and explained the significance of its existence

yet as we parted it said I could still save you

needless to say I didn't succeed

as we found you without a spark in the same bed few days later

the graveyard added another name to its list

among faceless names, this one I knew

as someone who saw who I shall become

years later your gravestone still sparks a smile on my face

and I wonder if we could see each other now

how much we'd have to say, what advice you'd give

but life is full of those eternal seconds

in which we search for a human voice

*

Needless to say this is very personal and I may change my mind and delete this post... I was listening to Pink Floyd and this memory came to mind. I was a child of five, very shy and insecure, but she gave me something, my voice.

Poem: A time we shall not know

a time we shall not know -

of million generations before us

our skin and bones were forged

under mother's heart

where we made our first moves

reaching with our fingers

towards this small universe

of heartbeats and water

sailing in the sea of words

coming from the beyond

- where we knew no daylight

only saw the intertwined roots

of a tree, which kept us alive and growing

until we left the shadows of a womb

and roots became branches on which we played

we were placed into the hands

to guide and provide for us

in the best way they knew how

all our fates depended on the country we were born into

one small blue dot in the cosmic play

with endless plots from which we were given one

and it's our decision how we are going to write it

in all these minutes we have

the only time we shall know

it's short and it's precious

but we seem unaware of its ticking away

wind can sweep the seeds

and in hundreds of years

who knows where the seed will bloom

or will it rot away in a corner of a forgotten time

a forgotten generation, an imprint of information

maybe a door of solution – or destruction

and in hundreds of years

who knows whose eyes might find your pages

give you a new voice and a new heart

and you'll come like an evening shadow

into a time you shall not know

*

Poem: The Sower

artwork by Jeanie Tomanek 

she buried it deep in the muddy soil
among old roots she laid it to rest

not knowing it will grow and sprout

every seed has a story to tell

and just as the soil feeds it to develop

                - so do our minds

now she proudly stands behind it

as if it had given her a spine

she follows like a shadow

her touch gentle and her step light

like a sound of timid angels

she moves freely, among the birds' zone

observing and not being noticed

                - a flightless bird

always keeping an image of home

somewhere in the back of her head

she divides them into groups

then she slices them up

delicious little seeds

she cherishes them the way they were

before they came screaming out

                - she knows their breath

now she watches the sparks they make

and she smiles because she knows the pain in growing

*

 Prompted by The Mag 184.
...describing the life of my poetry as well.

Poem: Summer Garden

behind a crooked smile

                you hide your memories of love

                safely sealed from treacherous hands of strangers

yours is the image of a girl

                who dressed as flowers and never said much

                but she offered a rose prize

in the tree house you broke your hearts

                but you forgave each other

                for the words were seams

yours is the image of fallen angels

                in the dewy grass of the summer morning

                sea salt on your skins

every seed carries life and death

                but you know that without mortality

                we could not appreciate the beauty

you picked strawberries off her bare thighs

                because you knew the colour of loneliness

                and how fast it can spread

touched her, like you would touch a flame

                running through the storm until the cold deafened your senses

                and you ran out of matches

it's strange to think we all look up at the stars

                and ask for our wishes to be granted

                as if they know the balance between making us grateful but not bitter

the drum keeps on beating

                and you keep murmuring

                until the day is done

then the shadow of her, which you carry

                becomes unbearably heavy

                and you trust to the moon, the one little secret

of how you wish to go back and tell her everything you know now

*