If you’re going to leave,
do it now.
don’t bustle around,
imprinting your dirty steps
to the ground where
our unborn child
was meant to play.
If you’re going to leave –
run.
before the morning sun
catches you
and locks the bluebird
back to the cadge
that you made.
And when you leave
don’t throw any dirt
on the yellow meadows
that we used make love in.
I’ll make them burn
and ache.
as I do
for who we were.
Only our pillows know how heavy our heads are at night. And how many tears our eyes can hold.
by Bukowski
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and
i won’t blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won’t blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and I won’t use it
yet.
From Philosophy of Love
My heart is pointed directly to the sun, letting shadows fall behind me. I cannot see your face, but I know it’s you, standing next to me. I turn to face you and feel you smiling. My hands are wet: I love to touch the morning grass and feel its energy. I touch your face; the corner of your lip. You kiss my fingertip. I smile. Your kiss is so soft and feels so real. Too real; your presence is as undeniable as the sunlight itself. It’s blinding. It almost makes me anxious. But why? I’m happy. I take a deep breath and reach again for your hand. Instead. I touch cold steel. I don’t recognise what it is. I only know it’s not you. You’re gone. The sun is gone but I still cannot see. My eyes are sealed. I’m trapped in complete darkness. How is this possible? I grasp the air around me but all I can feel is the wind in my hands. I am alone. I start breathing more and more frantically. Am I having a panic attack? Please, come back! The sun is gone. I am the shadow, down from darkness, not the light. I am no one. I must be something! I carefully step forward to escape this cubicle I am in. I fall.
Only our pillows know how heavy our heads are at night. And how many tears our eyes can hold.
I’m awake.
First thing I do is grab my phone:
‘Good morning sleepyhead ! Are you ok?’
‘Hello, Lovely. Yeah, all good. Was just thinking about you.’
‘That’s nice to hear! What you doing after? Maybe want to grab a coffee?’
‘I’d love to but I can’t. I’ve got so much stuff to do.’
‘Okay, that’s cool. Chat later.’
‘Have a nice day, sweet cheeks.’
I won’t see him today… I curl up into a ball, get under the blanket and hope this day passes quickly. I might be able to see him tomorrow.
That is how the past year went by. Today is different. Instead of feeling sorry for myself and possibly consuming one or two bottles of wine while listening to my playlist called ‘Melancholia’, I’ve decided to do something beneficial for the society and enlighten some wild hearts what to expect from this mysterious occurrence, commonly known as love.
Introduction
’First Chaos came, and then broad-bosomed Earth, The everlasting seat of all that is, And Love. For what lover would not choose rather to be seen by all mankind than by his beloved, either when abandoning his post or throwing away his arms? He would be ready to die a thousand deaths rather than endure this. Or who would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger? The veriest coward would become an inspired hero, equal to the bravest, at such a time; Love would inspire him. That courage which, as Homer says, the god breathes into the souls of some heroes, Love of his own nature infuses into the lover.’ – Plato.
Love inspire.
The ancient Greek philosopher Plato believed that the strongest army in the world would have been the one of the lovers just because each one of them would have done everything to protect the loved one.
Interesting idea, I could say. Throughout the decades, different philosophers tried to tell the world what the love was. Aristotle claimed that it was ‘one soul inhabited two bodies’.
Beautiful.
The Modern French philosopher Albert Camus believed that love was the only true duty.
Is it?
And what would a young twenty-first century woman say, getting rid of the rhetorical purposes in order to praise love or literal benefits, whatsoever?
The young woman would say that the love that she knows doesn’t have any rules, sense or logic. And that young woman is me.
As it becomes a modern trend, moving from a small country to London nowadays is a must. So did I. From a small town in Estonia, I’ve challenged myself to try and work the big city life in the capital.
I present you my subjective thoughts without any judgement or the spice of the feeling that I know better. Hell no I don’t; nor do you. I present you my philosophy of love.
* * * * * *
I will keep posting extracts of the finished work that you can find in the menu above, between info about me and short stories 😉 Enjoy
I love this simple feeling
when you open your notebook
and are about to write…
But not just yet.
I could sit there for hours
and breathe the air
full of energy and sun.
I love to see the sky
first thing in the morning,
opening my eyes,
full of unawareness
of the planes outside.
They fly. And I fly too.
I also love spring cleaning.
Just because it’s not in Spring;
I love to clean
but only once a year,
in Spring, I guess…
Quite a misunderstanding! Love it. I
love , love, love night lanterns!
So mysterious they are…
If something magical will happen
I assure you, look around;
A night lantern will be found!
I love to rhyme!
And kite and hike
I love my bike. –
Not really… For the sake of art
I’ll love them. Only for the rhyme…
I love to touch the skin.
And then touch it again.
You never can mistaken
two touches of two souls
if one of them is partly yours
I love the freedom that you get
t when you in love.
You want to dance
and jump
and sing
and fly. Go out there
be yourself
knowing that a piece of you
is safely resting in another heart.
I look at you
with my eyes closed
and see:
graceful statues bending
in the presence of a shadow
Their silent eyes refuse to live.
I see a silhouette, so fragile…
As tender woman’s heart can be.
Choices that you make
define you;
I choose
to open the eyes
Of a soul
that is too proud to see;
and too proud to hear;
too damn proud to live.
I choose
to be that soul;
And turn around
When I cut the hand
That feeds me
And stab the back
That leans against me
Side by side.
Choices that you make
define you;
I shut my ears-
The scream goes silent.
Gets buried
deep inside the heart,
or what is left of it.
I choose to change
the heart
I’ve broken
in exchange of
sinful life
or what is left of it.
Physical pain is nothing compared to an aching soul.
You can cure a wounded leg; by yourself or by someone else’s help. You can cut it off and still survive. The mind, however, is nothing but you. And in a sense it is bigger than the whole universe: you are the universe.
The difficult part is that who the hell could be capable of taking in charge of the universe? The most popular answer would be God, I suppose. Well, breaking news but as Nietzche concluded: God is dead. However, by reaching the point of pain that you cannot even comprehend you appear in some certain type of mind black hole. You know that you know nothing. You cannot feel your legs or arms or even your very own beating heart. You simply know that you exist. You exist because you think.
You have no idea about the rest of the world except your own consciousness and then you realise its limitless possibilities. Possibilities to create worlds and destroy them in a blink of an eye. There goes one rule for that: you cannot rebuild what’s been destroyed. And as big as it gets, it still fits in the limiting frames of the soul which ends where another one starts.
By forgetting about your body that allows to touch the raindrops and feel the skin, you access this net of infinite souls connecting into energies and you finally understand it. You understand everything. You cannot find the words to explain, except this sensation of an infinite warmth. The net connecting the world is nothing else but love.
Love is the only God I know. It’s the only cure for the aching soul.
by Bluebird
What’s on my mind,
they ask me.
If you really want to know
I smell ketchup in my bed.
The chicken wing
from the last week
probably
stuck between the wall
and sheets
I change
significantly rare enough.
What’s on my mind?
The money.
Sex.
And rock ‘n’ roll.
The bills I have to pay.
The bills?
What bills.
I rather run away.
I like the beach
and sunny mountains
and kisses grinding with the sand.
Your lips,
the chicken wing
and rock ‘n’ roll –
that’s all.
Bluebird 