fallingicarus111

[fallingicarus111]

Poem no. 26

First Cigarette.

Were I to kiss the smoke,

Of that dying cigarette

Bruised by your lilac lips.

Could I touch the aqueous thoughts

Of your naked mind?

Could that cigarette be a souvenir

Of your unheard sighs,

Kept hidden between the brittle pages

Of our favourite author?

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~NØiR

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[fallingicarus111]

Poem no. 25

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I never wash the flushed stains

Of your nubile hands off my wisteria trench coat.

Drenched in the incarnadine sumi-e of your hand-maps,

It tells the things, elusive in my mind.

Stories, that I don't want to hear;

Songs, I wish I would never hum;

Poems, sighs of your deflowered soul.

Every atom of the thread, hued with your crimson thoughts,

Unleashes infinite ravens over my blue vision.

Gambling with my eyeballs, the ravens will wreck

The snow globe, a blessing souvenir of your truths ----

The truths, parturated out of the womb of the girl,

Who seems to be my twin-flame.

No sooner does the snow globe shatter to pieces,

Than she becomes my jamais vu.

I think I never knew that girl nor you!

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~NØiR

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[fallingicarus111]

Japanese Haiku.

"白薔薇が

赤き心を

黙らせる"

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[fallingicarus111]

With each fondle of your eye lashes,

It kissed my death,

I died once

Drowning in your black ocean.

The waves, glistering with the love of the moon,

Caged my soul in the temple of your femininity.

Every wall I touched, poured out a bunch of Lavenders.

The odour, bending my thoughts, vented out

A warm sigh ---

A warm wet sigh.

The warm wet breeze bridged the gap

Between the atoms of yours and mine,

When we collided breath to breath, chest to chest;

Our souls became one

But sacrificed mine.

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~NØiR.

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[fallingicarus111]

What is love to me?

Maybe I'm not the one, who would kiss you amidst the most crowded concert, passionately pouring all the secret stories penned by the lavender ink into your blue heart.

Maybe I'm not the one who would eat the heart of a basilisk, erasing all the venomous stains of your nightmare.

But I'm the one, who would flood a tsunami of words that might wreck you heart, purge your heart into blooming a beautiful red rose ---- one you would give to your beloved.

I'm the one who would cut his wrist relinquishing all the unwanted and unexpressed thoughts through the hot red blood; every drop of that blood would become the cold wine in the holy chalice of your marriage ceremony, each touch upon your lips rendering your sobriety.

[fallingicarus111]

Poem no. 22.

Porcia.

Your eyes have the sorrows of your mother,

The sorrow that Van Gogh could never

Weep onto his mottled canvas.

The sorrow that floods a poet

To the soothing Cliffs of Moher

Where he, drenched in your scarlet wine,

Endeavours to measure the horizon

Of your unearthed thoughts.

The sorrow that once kissed me on my forehead,

Igniting every bit of my verdancy.

The green palpebra, turning into red ambers,

Fell onto me like gentle snow,

There I found the warmth of your sorrow,

That sorrow made me fall in love

With the person, that I saw through

The veil of your tinted smile.

Though It was forbidden to see that anguished beauty,

I was the Adam, fallen out of Eden.

I poured the elixir onto my blue heart;

The elixir of your sorrow that bloomed the red rose,

Whose petals gave birth

To my own beloved sorrow.

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~NØiR.

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Art work --- 'April Love'.

Artist --- Arthur Hughes.

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[fallingicarus111]

Poem no. 21.

Aftersun.

I was there when the saint in white,

Riding a unicorn,

Stabbed a stake in your bitter warm heart.

I was there when the villagers,

Your old friends came

Knocking on your wrecked door. 

I was there when the virgin in red

Gorging upon your scarlett rose,

Tinted your blue eyes.

I was there, dancing with you,

Hugging you, drenched in your Ardour.

I was there, watching you smile

You still humming the howling lore.

I was there, still didn't see you crying,

Getting washed up by the dark shore.

I was there, I was there all along.

But didn't find your burning lungs,

Taking in all the heavy smokes.

Didn't find the casket of your grey truths.

Didn't get to see beneath your lies

Painted with motley hues.

I was there holding the white rose,

That you planted on your sarcophagus

Daddy, daddy, you bastard,

I never kill that rose.

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~NØiR.

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[fallingicarus111]

Last Will by Nikolay Kurganov

[fallingicarus111]

(Poem no. 20)

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Tabula Rasa.

In the depth of the rheumy petals

Of your fragile silence;

The gentle sighs

Out of your rusty lips,

Still whispers the motley lies.

The inner threads of your unembellished soul

Dances a ballet on a howling lore.

You still linger in the warmth of Home,

Although, the warmth has turned into freezing cold.

You still in the quest for

The scent of your mother's hand!

But, the scent, caged in a glass jar,

Overthrown into the abyss

Of your unearthed thoughts,

So deep down, so far.

You keep yourself hidden in your bedroom closet,

A desperate attempt to save yourself

From getting burnt by the rays of truth;

That eternal truth, beautiful and tranquil,

Carved on your grey grave!

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~NØiR.

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[fallingicarus111]

(Poem no.18)

248. (HAIKU).

White roses drench my

Red tinted heart; poems fall

Into the silence.

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~NØiR.

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[fallingicarus111]

Poem no.17

Sisyphus.

Listening to stories from my past self.

Telling stories to my present self.

Writing stories to my future self.

Yes, I'm the cursed bottle of wine,

Once drunk by the Guest

Of the great Sisyphus;

Now, I'm drinking every drop of

Eternal Lethe,

With the sun always stuck

Upon my fragile

Yet intoxicated ecstasy.

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~NØiR.

[fallingicarus111]

(Poem no. 16).

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I Love A Girl (The Queen Of My Silence).

I love a girl.

Yet, I don't love her,

Because she is an element of heavenly beauty,

Nor is she the fickle Selene,

Levitating on the wisteria sky

Kissing the crescent moon.

Nor has she the ocean eyes of Goddess Venus,

Each gaze washing me away

Into my unearthed galaxy.

Nor is she adorned

With the four seasons of Nature,

A perfect art upon the blue canvas of Earth.

Nor has she the lips as dark as wine,

Crimson dreams of my naked soul.

I love her, as she blooms a grove

Of lilies within my nocturnal heart.

I love her, for not loving me,

Plucking harshly the petals

Of those lilies, with her gentle hand.

I love the oblivious gaze for me

In her rheumy eyes;

I love her, for the bliss I find,

In her ignorance of me

In the pages of her grey thoughts.

I love her because she is the mirror of my eternal truth,

Reflecting how tiny existence I have

In her conglomerate beautiful mind.

I love her for the unrequited love,

That gives ink to my Quill

In the quest of giving birth to those love sonnets,

The Magnum Opus of my essence.

I love her, because she is the Muse

Of my every story and poem.

I love her, for she is the sun,

That I roam around.

I love her because she is the supernova

The eulogy to my last breath.

I love her,  for she would be the silence

Of my eternal numbness,

Pristine,

&

Tranquil.

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~NØiR

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[fallingicarus111]

(Poem no. 15)

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Skeleton's Lullaby.

I'm falling,

I'm falling right through the cracks

Of my bleeding heart,

Drowning in my grey world.

I can hear the blissful screams

Of that dying blue whale,

The great protector of my hidden treasure

Veiled beneath the abyss of the blue's wraith.

My motley soul, ripping off the pages

Of my vernal diary, filled with poems,

Poured by the abused ink,

Unfolds a translucent body.

Contaminated with the blissful lies from my old,

I fear to watch my world crumble upon.

I run down to the boulevard of my ghost,

Seeking the warmth of a forgotten HOME,

For a shelter for my translucent body to hold.

Abruptly the locked closet of my grave

Opens its mouth wide,

Gorging upon my world, like a hungry black hole.

Buried in that closet of mine,

Whispers the skeleton, "Let it go".

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~NØiR.

[fallingicarus111]

(Poem 14)

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Someone, My Queen, Jamais Vu.

Someone, abyss apart.

Someone, still veiling 'neath,

My magenta lilac heart.

Someone, the queen of my dream, so grey.

Someone, lost into me.

Someone, a fleeting gaze can freeze

This time, so omnipotent.

Someone, a subtle smile can never succumb To the beauty of Venus, So magnificent.

Someone, Adonis yearned for falling in love.

Someone, Zeus never touched.

Someone, the beauty can never be

Hidden 'neath the fig leaf.

Someone, against the lustrous eyes

The sun gets silhouetted.

Someone, Nature never owns.

Someone, I know in my own oblivion.

Someone, my queen, Jamais Vu.

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~NØiR.

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[fallingicarus111]

The Young Martyr, 1855 - oil on canvas. — Paul Delaroche (French, 1797-1856) aqua-regia009 art edits

[fallingicarus111]

(Poem 13)

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Voluptuous Mors

In the dimly-lit room,

Half covered with light and

Half consumed by the dark,

I lit my temptation with the fervour,

Veiling beneath the deco-ed curls

Of my late night paramour's

Circled love.

A little, though not ignorant,

I noticed the curled up

Hazy dreams of mine,

Dancing on the beats

Of my tinted,

Yet, pale sighs.

Tearing my skin off,

Naked I was, plucking every damasked petals

Of my aqueous thoughts.

Listening to the unrhymed rain-drops,

Singing in rhythmical choir,

The mockery of the rhymed clock,

Seemed lucid and clear.

I tossed my ash-tray, burning my fear,

I tripped into my perpetual nightmare;

Getting ready for the concupiscent game With Tux on my grey carcass,

With cologne on my foul breath;

On my natal bed,

Shattering my pristine waterfall

I was damned,

I was damned to the liminality of hell.

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~NØiR.

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