ANCA MIHAELA BRUMA

At Your Door, The Night Closed Itself…

At your door, the night closed itself…

In this town, no story remained anymore,

In my words, no chattering disbeliefs…

My wing and your step don’t see the same flight

Yet… I left my hands as a seal on your forehead

At your door, the night closed itself…

You froze suspended as prolongation of me,

when you crumble, you fall over my precipice

but I cannot catch my soul from your wings,

and the thoughts run barefoot on the words’ edge.

At your door, the night closed itself…

Just listening to the late blossom,

and smell sunrises of your departures,

ceasing to gather each of your drop,

now, your eyes’ blade does not hurt… anymore…

At your door, the night closed itself…

I am crawling inside the corner’s words.

You are disheveled from my breathing,

my eyelids do not cradle your being

as washed away your dusty lost traces.

At your door, the night closed itself…

That nigh which grew stems on my body

Not to depart, I stopped inventing caresses,

my knees are risen by other wind archways

and the sunrise’s root buried my teardrops.

Even you closed your night at this door

Still, the Love can sing in rainbows over me!...

Our Conversation

A puff of Poetry,

and a line of Fiction...

You talked in Capitals,...

I whispered in Italics...

I raised the Symbolism,

You consumed the Alliteration!...

And our Words

are enunciated

in a permanent marker!!!

(Anca Mihaela - 25th January 2014)

I am a Moon dust dreamer...

watching moments of Resolution

how they build sonnets

under my eyelids

within an hour of Eternity...

Encased by an unbroken Time seed,

fertilized by the essence of a breeze

with spheres singing in spirals

the Harmony of the rings...

With no expired Headlines

within your painted fragments

in which... I KNOW...

we can co-Exist!...

ANCA MIHAELA