What have I done

 

Once upon a time, there was the empress
in the white castle with sapphire covers
in the bosom, she hid the marigold
for the knight of the royalty blue

But the proud rejected her desires and all splendour.
Through the glacial air of the court,
the warrior waved the silver sword
and from violet lips cut off no
at the snowy dawn, he jumped on his pale horse
with his chest full of rumbles rode from the castle

dim lights woke up the white petals face
with the cherry balm on the pillow,
the czarina has fronted bloodshot gaze
before the universe her crown became dark
down the ring, she ran with the nightgown and rosy feet

from a nearby town, she summoned her secret servant,
you will tell, my faithful,
that you have not received a ducat from me,
so she gave him the healthy horse
and on the saddle hung a large sack of gold
go now from village to village
house to house taverns to taverns and blaspheme me

his serpent's tongue sowed reasonable fear
until it rebelled all the villagers
When the young knight heard the news return before her skirts
Your Majesty, slander has fallen on you

above the bowed head on his knees,
her soft hand showed
'guards, sage him!'
then, she went out before the heads of her empire,
on the terrace of her white palace.

My citizens, and the caves of the firm forge,
there is neither gold nor treasure in the coffers
because they fall under the hands of the blue knight
you didn't receive the gold coin; he stole from your jewels,
but my guardians are swift; they caught the thief
children hungry mouths are, the death penalty

silence passed all over the land,
covering all the windows with black cotton,
home vibrations of waiting, they lit by candles
winter days, woke up the kingdom core
Milady, the truth seed has not sprouted

In the cold paths of the underground prison
between two carved torches, the silhouette watched him.
Flames departed in the eye of the attendant,
steps of the young and the old left the walls of the empire.

The hoarfrost fell on the emperor's dark hair,
sprinkled the dusk of the deserted fort
to inhale the sad one, the lonely one

    

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Why

 Why you do not paint,

when I write

silk pale purple laces

In our mirror's room

lightly spin the lipstick over lips

the colour overripe cherries

and lean them on the mouthpieces of Parisian long avenues

let go the sound of heels

through the music of the Balkan gipsies

and whisper my name in the fields of the rice

To hear the secret land hidden by black horses thunder

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Sadness

 

Cold icicles sank into the late cherries,
and the brown shadow swing intertwined branches,
in the silence of the roar, the bark cracks,
and trembling hand holds the canopy crown.
Restless curls kiss the evening glass
and lips softly, caressing salty raindrop.

'Do not go, stay',
from the wooden balcony calls the note from the guitar.

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Good bye

 During the tram of the first autumn rain

while the storks are kissing the mountain horizons,
a pigeon will shed its feathers in your garden fountain

And the thousand golden nests will wash the ashes from your lashes
along with the white basin
to your rosebud lips blubber from cooing lullabies

heat to heat, my swirl of feathers
beneath the green canopy of nowhere springs

A lesson from the granddad

On the table of my dark chambers

in the candlelight always rests the note of the wounded partisan.

In this grove

one raindrop cut your net tread, long time ago,

now, my rifle is the law

The lesson from a thief

Maybe you have a castle,

but you don't know, it's under the magician's coat,

says the man on the bench.

It is more pleasant

my wings float on the starry sky

The key ring

Help me,

That the ring cuts those tangled yarn like the diamond sword.

Embrace me,

dulcify the lemon slice on my lips

before I bite the sweet hat of the madman mushroom,

let the sparrow blowout through the shackles like through dark hedge

and spin the leaves into a thousand green butterflies.

Let's bathe naked, shameless, in the milk of iridescent clouds.

Let it be all a lie

Autumn leaves hugged the two of them on the bench,

the edges of her coat rested in her hand clench.

He sought peace in her Indian summer.

He heard her reproaching whisper.

And what we will do now?

Now, when I'm just a rock where you'd sleep the sweetest

in the withered spring of mine nest.

Seduced are, that your lips with some other vanillas,

from long ago my shoulders are not your pillows 

and my leaves rustles do not wake up your gaze glow

Down the melodious golden plasma 

Between his palms shed eternal icicles shine.

A statue which loved

An iceberg on the horizon hid the garden.
I arrived led by swaying translucent blue trail.
My breath fogged engraved roses in the ice,
and the leaves were a mirror to a river above us.

I've found her grey, set in the centre,
that statue, asleep with deep, embedded lines,
covered by the veil of the crescent moon,
her gaze melted the snow.
She hugged the cross with her hands on her chest.

I placed my palms on her attire,
and caressing her arms, whispered,
Trust me, please, one more time.

My wounds

My wounds licked

The sticky sea air

Ziket a short poem structure in English literature 

Run My Lamb Run

The thick night was slowly falling over Vietnam.
Sparks caught the endless tones of the waves under the swinging raft.
We sat at the table, her and me.
My eye woke up the constant glow of the phone,
That lamb called.
Her breasts went down and up,
as deep sighs turned themselves into pearls, in the throat.

Before that day, under the azure sky melted balm,
I felt her hard palm over my shoulder staves.
The night ink relived the craft,
she will come, tell her to not come.

Now, her lashes ponds reached the last light of calm,
into the darkness deep down.
She did not notice me,
I gazed into my flying moth.

Run, my lamb, run,
from the knives of the cotton castles,
the dusk towers of which stone on the stone does not rest,
and the dust on the lips,
over the harvested daffodils,
towards singing chants of village girls,
above the path of dried apricots

No care no worry

On a blue-green field, I planted one bright crimson rose.
The extracted honey has covered the throat,
to me, seduced by her radiant beauty,
so I gave her all on her volition.

While night clouds rested on the sunrise,
one withered yellow leaf of hers wrinkled my forehead,
and I addressed her, angry, censorious gaze from my bud.

A long time after, the grass did not cast my rests.
Nor the rose scent was reaching me out,
because of the nearby conifer forest.

Weeds began to grow around the chestnut navel
to hide her all despised.
Then one morning, two youngs discovered the blue-green field,
and hand in hand passed by the bush shield.

A letter to me

In the clock-tick of the ashy main scent of sleep 

or the silky touch of dear solitude,

one teardrop rises my sand,

and your embrace trough my thoughts flies.

Then all my desires, dreams dance

in their longing, soft, ball.

And sleepy white pigeons wake up

with a song about that lily delight

If I then listen to the paths of my forest deep

I will feel the whisper of the leaves,

These are your eyes coming furtively

in which the warm fire is crackling.

© 8 hours ago      

Not True

Miss. Poison,

slide into these cracks

I will not fade into her ajar white door

or look at her two panes, any more.

Closing my eyelids,

melting your notes,

thousands of fingers

from my pillows,

act into the dust.

The trail

In the autumn woods

golden colour leaves rustle

white crumbs on the mud

Maybe it is happiness

Those blue eyes
you will nowhere find.

Strings of shiny brown hair,
lightly winding
cuddling the air.
As she tenderly
turns on her toes,
she dances softly
with my sleep,
sparkling, bathed in the day,
brights in the mute greenery
in a giggle of teardrops

She has candles
in her troat
the white wrist.
She whiter
even more

into oyster wet
her two cheeks are moss
with waterfall slime

Illuminate luna,

In contour divine,

Anglers gave it to eyes,

Hunted by nights

A magic woods

She said, do you like the woods?

 She said I know a magic wood.

 I'll be going there tonight. 

Barefoot on the snow trail

With a face full of a smile 

I'll wait for the wolfs by the tree, 

To come

Let them tear-off part by part of my body

They will, from this pain, set it free

While your love was whispering
 Cloddy and pail 

She said, do you like the wood?

 She said I know a magic wood.

 I'll be going there tonight. 

The Halting Mare of Mine

Her last waterfall of light extinguished on her croup.

And her mane doesn't hide stars.

While she waits for me, the halting mare of mine

The dusk engulfs the azure.

And that echoes sigh of hers

sees that her eyes

have long been in my nest,

just the thorns.

Her moist nostrils are only there to extinguish,

in my cave rooms,

the last flame of the compassion

So the silence whispered to the ear

It's going to strike

a bullet in her hot, bloody chest

my stoned hand

and in my lashes drops will not burst,

Siberian dark of mine

That little white European lady

That little white European lady,

 In a white egg swing from China.

 She was paying well

With a skin brighter than an Arab horse

 For which my Palestinian blood boils to me

 That little white European lady

Paid well for the last act as well to me.

And now I will slowly pull on the curtains,

And you lightly, dear, undress.

In the hot crotch receive me

You bore well, now rest

Just to never finds out, that little white European lady,

as she is in a wrecked caramel castle, dreams.