Dancing Underwater

Before I drift off to sleep I wish I were on a deserted island with the love of my life, my boyfriend, and dancing to this song like these two people in the video...What an amazing fantasy!!!

Enduring Beauty

As our love grows deeper

And we fill each other

Still admire the darkness

Let it become larger

As life drifts further

Beautiful One

This is another one of my stories. Enjoy!

Night like a clock is slowly but surley ticking away. Clouds are breaking off the sky; lightning is tearing it apart, just like this silence. I don’t know if I ever told you that I love a storm , especially when it comes in the right moment like this early morning…and the drops of rain fall straight into the sea.

Do you rememeber my darling; we were still young back then, young and naïve. We didn’t dream of the days that passed by, we wondered about those that were to come and be our forever.

The city was big back then, a lot bigger. From end to end the day walks, old people used to say, but instead we were different and we wanted little bit of space. Somehow personal and cynical, selfish, just for us.

The world, just like today, was stupid. The war was bad, people were dying all around us, and nobody knew anything. Everyone had weapons except our countries , our people, you and I used to believe. We read together, remember my darling those old books from my half empty shelves and poetry that you used to read to me by Mark Halter. Remember the sea, where the salt can be tasted, and the smell of yellow flowers;we never even knew the name. We made things up just not to stay away from each other…..rememeber?

I always asked you what Halter meant when he said “Im tired of everything; she threw herself in the river, the most beautiful girl from England!”

Shakespeare was dumb, you would say, but do you rememeber how we like that Hamlet and all other stories except Romeo and Juliet. They were not our style. Do you rememeber my darling how many times we turned your room into a stage and actors were you and I, audience as well. We thought that out love was the only one, the biggest one, we thought that’s what happenes to everyone when they fall in love, and life is long, the path isn't straight, it's dangerous just like that street on the corner of my house, where accidents used to happen all the time.

You name is still the most beautiful to me. Your lips were soft and tasted like fresh oranges. I still can't believe that this is you, that after 20 years we are at the same place the same beach tasting the salt of the sea and smelling the fragrance of those yellow flowers. We thought that we would never see each other again because our people had weapons too, my people and yours. They forgot about you and I, about love, about everything. We saw when the boots command how head has to take the steps. You are telling me how your daughter has a man that takes good care of her, mine does as well, but don’t tell her how people are good, and how we are the best, just don’t …tell the truth.

If they just told us the truth…..oh my darling…

Close your eyes and draw some lines on the paper of our memories and don’t kiss me like back then…what would people say? You saw how they stare at us.

Gustav Klimt - The Kiss

MORTAL LOVE - BEAUTIFUL ONE

Looking Through The Eyes of Love

     “There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved,” George Sand once said. Is this what love really is? This is a question that has tormented our humanity throughout the years. Psychologists have tried to study it, poets have tried to analyze on a piece of paper but the mystery continues. To know what love is one must experience it deeply. It is a very special sensation which is not related to any other human emotion. There are different kinds of love that people go through: jealous or fearful love, pure-true love, false love and romantic love. Sometimes love brings happiness. Sometimes it brings sadness. Sometimes it strikes like a thunderbolt. If you love, then the world becomes infinite. Everything is an opportunity, no obstacle can be overcome. The problem is that most people are uncomfortable with such never-ending outlook. They want their world much smaller and easier to control. They are unconfident and need to have power of every aspect of love, or they are frightened it will slide away from them over night. In some people, jealousy is a present monster. If they don’t sense it themselves they attribute it to others. Nearly everyone wishes to have pure love. Pure love doesn’t depend on anything. One doesn’t love another person because of any quality that person possesses. It doesn’t expect anything in return nor does it await pleasure. It is a completely unselfish emotion; the pleasure is in giving not taking. The more we love, the more we increase our ability to love. Many talk of the chest area holding heart chakra. Whether this is a fact, or only a way to illustrate the feeling in the chest as the heart opens, will always be a topic for assumption. What will remain steady is that to love, you must love, and to truly love, you must love evenly. Love is not a thing to divide its meaning and put a little in one basket and a little in another. Pure love is the most vital thing in our lives, a passion for which we would fight or breathe our last breath. False love begins the same way pure love does but it never ends the same. It’s never adequate, for it misleads, twists and eventually destroys everything and everyone it associates with. It leads to a break up. Sometimes partner falls in love at first sight and at the end just realize that it’s absolutely nothing but physical lure. Rather than see this as the heart loving entirely, it doesn’t choose one over the other. How we love is one matter; who and what we love is the other, and in this we also make variety of choices. Love doesn’t only strike the young and capable, the beautiful and suitable. Romantic love is only one opportunity among many of the choices a heart has to offer. We treat romantic love not as an act but as sentiment, an overpowering desire to be with and guard our dearly loved one. It trembles us awake, makes us aware of our incompleteness, and makes us crave for more. Once again love is sacred and profane, erotic and inspirational, comic and tragic, carnal and mystical. It has no limit. It is a thrilling opening into an ever expanding universe that is us. As Diane Ackerman said: “Everyone admits that love is wonderful and necessary, yet no one agrees what it really is.” It will stand always as a mystery.

I found an interesting view on love written by Nail Gaiman :

Have you even been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...
You give them a piece of you. They don't ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like "maybe we should just be friends" or "how very perceptive" turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.

My favorite Love poet of all time is Rumi, he perfectly makes sense to me in all the things that he wrote about when it comes to love. I guess, I'd always agreed with him because I am the same dreamer like Rumi used to be. In his poetry ,and if you ever really felt the depth of love,  you feel his words piercing inside of your heart, you feel that twisted maddness and pleasure become one. What is love without maddness...absolutely NOTHIG. I think we love many people that pass through our lives, for some we feel more love , for some less. But there is that one person who comes into your life who makes Earth move for you, whose everything and nothing to you is your sacredness...without whom you can't imagine this life, this is one love that stays forever, both in your heart and you memories. Those who say that they don't believe in love are afraid of themseleves, afraid of life.

and Rumi wrote:

You think you are alive

because you breathe air?

Shame on you,

that you are alive in such a limited way.

Don't be without Love,

so you won't feel dead.

Die in Love
and stay alive forever.

I said, meet me in the garden.
You know the one

it is called Smiling Spring.

There are nightingales chirping away,

wine and candle lights,
and companions as soft as

pomegranate blossoms.

You think this all would sound so perfect!

But without you by my side,

what use is the Smiling Spring?

And when you are with me,

what use are pomegranate blossoms?

My head is bursting with the joy of the unknown.
My heart is expanding a thousand fold.

Every cell, taking wings, flies about the world.

All seek separately the many faces of my love.

Last night, I saw the realm of joy and pleasure.

There I melted like salt; no religion, no blasphemy,

no conviction or uncertainty remained. In the middle of my heart,

a star appeared, and the seven heavens were lost in its brilliance.

  
Whenever I read these lines, I get lost in its ecstasy.
 
I've also read some poetry from ancient times, that I'd like to share.
 
 

"Vigil Of Venus" - Tiberianus,

Governor of Gaul c.325 C.E

The woodland's silent smile

Where flowers raise their heads

And Venus bids you welcome

Loose your girdle, come to bed

Indulge yourself. Give in to love.

A handful of songs written by women troubadours have survived and they are among my favorites. The Countess of Die was in love with Raimbaut de Vacqueyras, one of the most famous troubadours of his day. It seems, however, that he did not recognize either her talent or her charms.

"I Must Sing" - The Countess of Die

I must sing, whether I will or no.

I feel so much pain over him

whose friend I am.

For I love him more than anything that is.

But Grace and Poetry

avail me not at all with him.

Nor my beauty, nor my virtues, nor my wit.

I am brought low and betrayed

as if I had no charms at all.

I know in my heart

I have never been false to you

My friend, or done you any wrong

I love you more than Seguin loved Valence

And I am a better lover.

My friend, though you excel all other men

You are arrogant towards me

in word and deed

Yet with another you behave so charmingly....

Whatever she may offer you,

whatever she may say

Remember the time when our love began.

God knows, I will always be true.

Red Rose

I wrote this story a few years ago and  I would like to share it. It's about a man's intoxication with his beloved. Enjoy!


“Softness is the petals of a rose
Sweetness is the flavor of your lips
The beauty of your eyes, of passion
Turns my heart into those, the petals
Of a rose.”

On this table there is a red rose. I need a cigarette. Intoxicate me, please. I listen to some odd noise coming from far away. I lost myself in some spurious thoughts, shivering in fear just when I think about it. I see her again. In a dress made of smoke, she’s coming towards me. She’s bizarre and I never know what she thinks. Her eyes are mysterious, her lips are a secret. I don’t want to yearn for her. I don’t want to hate myself for wanting her. I just cry. Give me a cigarette, please. It’s hard for me to walk throughout the day. Bitter and dishonest. Love is not on my side. Love is distant and she doesn’t care. On this table there is a rose, withering. Somebody is approaching me through my nightmares. Some person. What is it this time? Who? Rose flickers in the sight of this wonderful woman. She’s crawling through the fresh grass and poisonous bush appearing in front of me. I cry, again. She’s sliding silently, toward my face with her mouth wide open. I’m terrified. I see her tongue coming out. It’s long and soft. She licks my tears away. That brings hope but it will be gone almost immediately, I know. I am a rose and I shake from sorrow. I notice her again in a dress of smoke. She’s smiling, holding me closely and I don’t know what this means. I’m on the edge of madness because of love. She gives me some unusual kiss. Again, I’m not sure what it meant or if it was a genuine kiss. What does the whole thing mean? I’m a rose, contemptuous and shivering and I need ease. Some feeling went through me like lightening strike me. She lets go of me and starts observing, altering her face expressions. Goddess, a dream, beautiful dream that you desire and delightful being you want to touch and smell that makes you curl from sadness, pleasure and excitement.


“I am a rose”, she repeated after me.

“I am a rose”, she repeated quietly, sobbing.

We are roses. We shiver, and we probably will never be one rose. All that’s left is fascination, some twisted enchantment. That’s probably the lack of nicotine. Everything is someplace where we are not, far away. A place we left, destroying all our possibilities, we will never come back to. At least not like this, in this form. Her picture slowly becomes visible, somewhere. Mine as well. Smoke. I need smoke. I need her, now, more than ever. Maybe everything is a lie but that doesn’t mean anything, I need that. That’s what’s essential. I am a rose. We are roses. Frightened. Shuddered. We are smoke and poison. We are gloomy and desperate. Lie down and don’t ever leave.

By Me

An Eternal Love Story

I’ve been thinking about a place where I’d like to go and explore its enchanting beauty and one popped in my head, Agra, India. I’ve read many books on its history and the Mughal Empire, which began in the 16th century and ended in the mid-19th century. One thing that stands out from this part of era is the most unique monument in the history of the world, Taj Mahal. The monument is a saga of love, dedicated to one woman, Arjumand Banu Begum or best known as Mumtaz Mahal. Her husband Shah Jahan built it for her and it stands for love, companionship and memories. Do men like this walk the Earth nowadays, I wonder?

Mumtaz Mahal & Shah Jahan

Taj Mahal- In its purest form.

The construction of the Taj commenced in 1631 and was completed in 1653

" As a tribute to a beautiful woman and as a monument for enduring love, the Taj reveals its subtleties when one visits it without being in a hurry. The rectangular base of Taj is in itself symbolic of the different sides from which to view a beautiful woman. The main gate is like a veil to a woman’s face which should be lifted delicately, gently and without haste on the wedding night. In indian tradition the veil is lifted gently to reveal the beauty of the bride. As one stands inside the main gate of Taj, his eyes are directed to an arch which frames the Taj.

Red Fort in Agra. This was their home

 

 

Beautiful architecture, leaves me speechless...

Arjumand was one lucky woman!

On a full-moon night,
Taj bathes bare with immortal grace

in the cool serene waters softly shining,

like a moonlit dreamcarved in white grandeur.

Marbled mausoleum gathers dust of endless love

of Mughal imperial lovers and sweet scent of sleeping jasmines

lingers on the calligraphed graves while pearly dew drops

caress the majestic marvel, in misty opaque twilight.

When night sings lullaby, and moon sleeps on

pillow of cushiony-clouds monument of unparalleled love

guarded by the emerald-green groves,

pruned so meticulously sheds pristine tear drops

on the weathered pages of history.

Copyright 2008 © By Bharat Trivedi

I found and read this beautiful poem written by Bharat Trivedi. Through his words I feel as if I am there eyewitnessing an enternal love and loosing myself in the beauty of Taj.

Greek Goddess Iris

Since Iris is the Greek goddess for the Messenger of Love, her sacred flower is considered the symbol of communication and messages. Greek men would often plant an iris on the graves of their beloved women as a tribute to the goddess Iris, whose duty it was to take the souls of women to the Elysian fields.

Daydreaming of Spring

I have been living in Florence, Italy for the past 5 months. I adore this city and it's essential beauty. Everything about Florence captivates my mind. Its culture, art...it's all there on display in front of my eyes and I can't help but wonder how many "strangers" in this city feel the same way. If they even do...?
Today is Sunday, it was a sunny morning until the dark clouds sorrounded the city and kicked the sunshine out of the sky. But before the rain started, I got out on my big terrace and together with my charming boyfriend started the process of cleaning, which I enjoy very much. The terrace is empty now, due to the winter that brought heavy rain and winds that circulated throughout Florence. We cleaned the terrace almost completely and rearanged the flowers pots. I always saw my mom plant the flowers in the pots and change the soil, but I never tried to do it before. Today was my first time and yes, I did a good job! I bought three different flowers yesterday, now they are breathing fresh air outside. They made me think of  la primavera (spring) and its charm. I love spring...everything about it, I love. Awakening of the first flowers, warm breeze on my skin, the smell of honey in the air...I daydream alot about this magical season and I am so excited that it will knock on this city's door SOON!

I wish to have a garden like this one day

I love typical Tuscan gardens. Flowers, of many colors, beautiful statues and fountains !!! What more would one want? If I had one like this, it would make me feel like I'm living in Rinascimento (The Renaissance), which actually began here in Florence in the 14th century!

In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers

is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely

as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful.

I really want to clean out my closet and put away the winter collection! I am "craving" a dress.

I love this picture. The front door of a Tuscan villa covered in colors.

It's time for spring, butterflies, sweet scents, honey and bees, happy colors, music, cold drinks and great love poetry!

" A flower's fragrance declares to the whole world that it is fertile, available and desirable. It smell remind us in vestigial ways of fertility, vigor, life-force, all the optimism, expectancy, and passionate bloom of youth. We inhale its ardent aroma and no matter what our ages, we feel young and nubile in a world aflame with desire." By Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses

When bright flowers bloom

Parchment crumbles, my words fade

The pen has dropped...