XXLove letters

 

 

When I didn’t ask unspecific questions,

 

 

We got lost on the way home,

It wasn’t distance,

Why do people tend to blame miles?

Distance is when you are far,

But I’m always near,

Because I can’t forget you,

Because I can’t hate you,

Until I lose my mind,

 

Distance is when you call me to whisper sweetly,

‘Don’t regret that I’m not someone that you would never love’,

Distance is when I’m lost in the cosmopolitan city,

Rewriting Shakespeare’s stories,

They beautify rejection,

There have been so many voices since I heard the one and only word,

 ‘Yes’,

 

‘I have an idea’,

‘I always agree’,

‘Let’s win every round’.

‘And so the entire life’,

‘Life is a game’,

‘Then play it for me’,

‘Life is an adventure’,

‘Then don’t buy a ticket. And venture it’,

‘Life is a tragedy’,

‘Then look it in the eye’,

 

These were our few word ambitions,

 An after party short dialogue,

We would have won the battle,

If it hadn’t been for a preposterous joke,

Welcome to our world,

It had no sun but mist,

We put a little darkness, a little rain and soap opera twist,

We aspired to fix souls fixing ourselves drinks,

 

‘I will love you under one loving condition,

High tides bring much garbage and a few useful things,

High tides bring debris of people’s secrets,

Don’t force me to keep our secret,

It cannot stay confidential,

Don’t put a question mark,

I don’t want to hide my love,

I want to express it at least the least bit’,

 

‘If I keep all secrets that high tides bring in,

I will bankrupt,

When merciless night suffocates all daylight whispers,

A secret is useful if it’s capital one can invest,

If it stimulates exchange,

Are you happy when you are with me?

It’s what I want to ask,

Let’s leave the rest for Marx and those that care about interest’.

XXLove letters

 

When an angel serenaded you,

 

 

The typeset posters were all over the Hill,

Gaston managed to circulate them,

In the Place du Tertre,

In the boulevard de Clichy,

They were put up even on Moulin Rouge,

Your were evicted from Basilique du Sacre Coeur,

On the snow-white walls your art was short-lived,

It was ripped off by the padre or God himself,

Both of them got very angry,

 

Workers in overalls, butchers and taxi-drivers,

Poets and artists,

Florists and pastry cooks,

Writers and can can dancers,

They were drawn out of hated routine,

And planted in happy idleness,

Imagination raved,

The forthcoming party excited them,

The true artist sees joy and grief as mighty oneness,

 

The party attracted a lot of people,

Bright costumes dazzled eyes,

There were Spaniards in doublets,

Collars jabot and helmets,

Maidens with flowers flirted with captains,

 Sailors were everywhere,

Arrogant plume hats and pirates of any kind,

Dutch Protestants wore shoes with square buckles,

And tightly buttoned suits,

British officers strutted around like roosters wearing cocked hats,

 

It was the zenith of the ship-to-ship combat,

Thick smoke and naphthalene smelled,

On the deck there were corsairs, marauders,

The floor was slippery with wine and beer,

Shouts and laugh didn’t run out,

Liquor was cheap,

Dreams were expensive,

Everyone thought the same,

‘I am next Renoir or Rodin.

One day I’ll thrive.

I’ll rent a decent workshop.

This beer tastes like piss.

Someday I will be big.

I will drink only absinthe’.

 

Antoine was a cabin boy with a black scarf around his neck,

He passed a beer to a towering giant,

The giant set his giant legs wide apart,

His hand rested on his right hip,

You recognized sculpture Guillaume,

You met him the other day,

He threatened to use a boatswain pipe,

Next to his worn out shoe an Italian sword meddled,

 

A gypsy beauty made an appearance and grabbed your left hand,

‘If you are against the world, you will save it,

Without firing a shot, without a sword and a bayonet,

Nobody will know about your brave deeds,

Don’t be upset,

Let pain and fears go,

You will be a savior after you grow,

I’m an art dealer catering to private collections,

I want to see your works’,

The ship was rammed and finally seized.

 

PS Happy Christmas! I hope Cupid will continue serenading and blowing soap bubbles.

XXLove letters

                                   

 

When I was a flower and you were a knife,           

 

 

‘See you later’,

I turned around,

Her body straightened up,

I saw a beautiful woman,

She might have been a vision,

Everyone is a vision,

Before we fall apart,

 

The hunchback disappeared,

The ancient wrinkles were smoothed,

The metamorphosis happened,

In the blink of an eye,

She was toned and slim,

Her unruly red curls were covered up,

                                    My sanity was abused,   

Her dark blue eyes stared and sparkled,

 

 I saw only the past in front of me,

It was sad,

There was no future,

Do you remember when we were kids?

The future was always ahead,

Something bright and excited always waited for us,

You think I complain,

I am afraid,

I feel the blade of a slightly dull knife,

An impatient, blood-thirsty suitor,

                                                                

You remembered the faces,

On the verge of perfection,

Most of them were from real life,

You needed a few lines,

You drew deck, planks and  carved railings,

Figures were very vivid,

You finished your work ahead of schedule,

It was an easy task,

 

It was your first work of art on commission,

Money were little,

Your joy was huge,

It was a big party poster,

Its remains still praise your talent,

Decorating the wall of the indifferent monster,

From Champs-Elysees to Montmartre,

Your fantasy knew no bounds,

Seducing local mermaids,

                         A pirate party took place on the Hill.  

XXLove letters

 

 

When the future was five franc coin,

 

‘Don’t be afraid,

Listen and think,

Give me your hand’,

She muttered,

‘I never ask much,

The future costs only five francs,

Give me your hand, mademoiselle,

Give me a coin,

Don’t give me more,

Or I will be insulted,

I don’t do it for profit’,

 

Gypsies’ gestures and tongues are usually smooth,

They will tell you to have a little patience,

Fate needs a little time,

To bring to your arms what you expect,

It always starts much fun,

But somewhere deep inside a frightened child wakes up,

A boy who is faithful to his ideals,

A girl who believes in wonder,

 

My Nostradamus wore an old patched shawl,

She had joie de vivre challenging her dilapidation,

A small thin-legged turtle was craning her neck toward my palm,

I stared at heaviness of her hunchback,

Life showed mercy to her,

It was a result of blackmail,

She was protected from death that prowled around,

Under her shell like in the treasure chest,

There were sighing desires,

The world has been craving for since its creation,

 

The gypsy’s eyes narrowed,

Her callous finger led her in the path of my fate,

‘I haven’t seen such fate,

I expected to see a lot,

When I saw, I feared,

Your happiness will equal pain,

Don’t break,

If you don’t, you will defeat death’,

 

For a moment she silenced,

Her finger trembled,

She tried to draw her head straight back under the shell,

Raising her empty blue eyes she muttered something,

I refused to understand,

Or I couldn’t,

I said ‘Enough’ and pulled my hand away,

 

‘It ends nowhere,

The end is near,

Be careful,

It waits’,

I made out her last words,

I left them behind in the alley,

Back then they made no sense.

 

XXLove letters

 

When my memory reached a dead alley,

 

                                           

Yesterday I was lost in the maze,

In the cute cobblestone alleys,

Attraction for both tourists and lovers,

Locals and escapists,

They wrinkle the Montmartre forehead,

I lost the purpose of life under the ugly sun,

It was found dead,

Though it had been so alive in the morning,

 

It drowned in the blue sky,

It was naked, bloated and very round,

It was waiting to be identified,

Its defects were blue gray splashes  scattered like birds in the sky,

It was up,

No tears to cry,

I wasn’t sad,

I felt a bit down,

 

I tried to forget every face,

Everything that had ever happened,

Memories fell on the pavement,

Memories smoked chimneys like pot,

I tried to think nothing,

But I recollected all,

Memories looked out the windows,

 Hollow eye sockets,

 

One man is enough to make you lose every hope,

One man is enough to make you re-live it again,

As if you never died,

As if you never cried on your comforter’s shoulder,

It always starts from scratch,

It starts with a clean slate,

Hopes are muses of soul,

Hopes are always alive,

 

A clumsy painter spilt rainy paint on the streets,

They soaked and swelled,

Overnight their colors faded,

I’m afraid of the moments,

When I don’t want to want something that I really want a lot,

Somebody grabbed my sleeve,

Was it real?

Was it a ghost?

 

Warty centuries seeped through cracks,

I saw an old Gypsy woman,

With almost colorless, lackluster blue eyes,

Like eyes of newborn kittens,

She looked like a Gypsy curse with a giant hunchback,

It made me feel sorry,

She reminded me of a turtle,

 

I darted a quick angry glance,

                              I couldn’t hide my annoyance,

In vain I tried to escape,

There was no crowd but us,

Life had the future in store,

The messenger had been sent,

The Gypsy was ready to make a sales pitch,

Selling mysteries at discount.