You asked me: “Lover, tell me, how do you love me?”
“Like life itself, like the dawn rising from the darkness” I said.
You nodded: “Lover, what hope do we have?”
“None, lover, but I will still find some hope just for us” I said.
You smiled at me: “Lover, what makes your life worth living?”
“You and the love in your eyes, lover” I said.
Then you turned and disappeared in the midst of my deepest dream.
And a distant spark of hope ignited my rising dawn.
88 words, memyselfandela, November 2013
Photo: Adela Galasiu
Mass of stone
as my night falls
dreams of memory, dreams of life
travel through my frozen mind
a solitude greater than life
as I lay down and
die for another night.
Phot: google, Ben Gossens
“In order to understand the world, one has to turn away from it on occasion.” Albert Camus
“Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep out alone under the stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back. Say no when you don’t want to do something. Say yes if your instincts are strong, even if everyone around you disagrees. Decide whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out what you’re doing here.” Eve Ensler
“I was a man who thrived on solitude; without it I was like another man without food or water. Each day without solitude weakened me. I took no pride in my solitude; but I was dependent on it. The darkness of the room was like sunlight to me.” Charles Bukowski, Factotum
“I have to be alone very often. I’d be quite happy if I spent from Saturday night until Monday morning alone in my apartment. That’s how I refuel.” Audrey Hepburn
“Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away… and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast…. be happy about your growth, in which of course you can’t take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don’t torment them with your doubts and don’t frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn’t necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust…. and don’t expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.” Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a young poet
“The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline towards the religion of solitude.” Aldous Huxley
“Guard well your spare moments. They are like uncut diamonds. Discard them and their value will never be known. Improve them and they will become the brightest gems in a useful life.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
Photos: Photobucket, Google
Everything consists of
mostly empty space
filling the gaps between
The singing bird,
the traveling train,
the darkness around,
your inquisitive eye
all are mostly not here.
Could we exist
without the invisible
particle of life
all the difference?
God’s breath of life
radiates inside us
creating the moments
that touch our hearts,
giving them substance.
In a life that could close
like a dark eyelid
we defy all logic
and will always remain
81 words, memyselfandela/Adela Galasiu, June 2014
When are you coming,
You weary soul and hungry breath?
I hide your beautiful memory framed
Sleeping deep in the fire of my heart.
My breath rests easy on your chest
As the night blooming in your loving eyes
Comes out of depths of your soul
That you have even forgotten.
What does your heart hide for me,
You dawn ethereal love?
No more tears, no cage of stone
To hide my crumbling being.
The delicate touch of your smile
As you kiss my moonlight shining lips
Awaits for the sun to melt us
In a passionate bud eager to explode.
100 words, memyselfandela, October 2013
Another year gone. Yet time means nothing. I love you dad, God rest your good soul.
Tonight, at this hour, the date has already changed in Romania, my homeland. It’s the 24th of June. Day of celebration for Christians as it’s the day of birth of Saint John the Baptist. Day of celebration even for the people that believe in magic, as it’s considered a magic night/day.
To me though this day means something else. Today my father would have had his 64th birthday. My dad who went to God 13 years ago. I can still remember his laughter. Not much of other details , but I can still remember how he used to laugh with tears sometimes. He was such a joyful man, kind, helpful, he loved life so much…And I know he had his flaws too, but for me he is my dad, IS my dad and I don’t ever consider him dead, only departed in a better place where he is waiting for…
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I can sing my soul endless
Still you’ll never get to see
For in front of your eyes
Are so many things but me.
I can reach my arms towards you
As I guard the deepest night
You’ll still wander to find
New dreams to fill up your sight.
I will just contemplate
At the gates of this fate
You are right, life continues
And maybe heaven can wait.
Come back Love, I have waited for you an eternity. I will wait till I’ll have no more reason to be…
Where I sit,
my windows burst with agony
only traces left of the sunshine.
Screams of pain,
from the bleeding heart within
from my dying fire,
life in a crude acknowledgement
and in the oblivion of my aching mind.
but all is left is this day,
What is dull for others
is a deep dive in the consciousness for me,
my long-lost confession from deserted lives,
memories filling the deep blue sea
as a storm,
scratching lines on my face
and crevasses in my soul,
harbours of quiet
where sometimes only a lost echo
It is through this singular beauty,
the spark inside the chaos,
that I now witness
the only path that represents
I am consciousness.
Hanged like a shroud
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Anger? Hate? What would be the perfect word to carve into my arm? What do I allocate this tender, fleshy space between my elbow and my wrist to? Ah, no, don’t tell me. I should tattoo that I have been looking for you a lifetime and that I will never give up on the hope to finally find you. I have looked for you a lifetime? No, this is no place for lamentations… Love? Peace and Light? No, I should tattoo that I love you, that I love your feet and your heart. Your big feet. And that I live for those moments when all I want to hear is my little breath next to the amazing sound of your thumping heartbeat.
Memories of a madman float in the void space around, yet the heart knows no fear. Tomorrow? Tomorrow is now. I am tired to wait for an…
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This was the feeling of a cold morning, of the bluest hour
when my breath evaporated bashing against sad painted grey skies.
I was crossing a bridge over deep dreams and cascading thoughts
and over places I wanted so much to see.
Framed in the broken frame of an old story, the dream heard life calling
but stronger was your whisper consuming my body, lost in time.
You were there yet miles away, steps behind in a past unforgiven,
while I was waiting for you, hanging between life and death.
And I kept asking you, calling you, yet your absent mind
didn’t have any answers, only silences carved in cold stone.
In the midst of this nightmare I closed my eyes. And as I tried to imagine you smile
my woman’s heart embraced you crying.
there’s nothing like this web of thoughts you bring to life to keep us dreaming.
separate with your hand light from darkness and set free your world of carved and phantomatic words.
can’t you see? the ocean of tears draws back leaving space to a landscape of love.
you can shape this realm as you like, you are the owner of this castle, creatures and fantasies.
at the sign of your finger life flows and the silence turns into symphony.
somewhere in the most lonesome corner I wait for you, I am your character, your shadow, your all and nothing.
100 words, memyselfandela, 2013
The absolute solitude embraces the caryatids but has not forgotten the smile in your eyes.
I spend my days with my rebel freedom, with the stone kings and the frozen time.
Life continues to pulsate in the depths of my heartless veins.
On the same stairs where you were holding my hand
The rain has replaced the sound of your footsteps beside me.
Your wish for happiness has not yet extinguished my soul.
I write like a lunatic on the corner of every table I happen to find,
In the silent places where I have once been with you.
Lunatic. Yes, I am a lunatic. The absolute lunatic for loving you.
111 words, memyselfandela, February 2014
Photo: Adela Galasiu, February 2014
what weighs the most
in the gravity of feelings:
to love or to be loved?
missing one or another
feels just as painful as
a bird trying to fly with only one wing.
ce cântărește cel mai mult
în gravitatia sentimentelor:
a iubi sau a fi iubit?
lipsa uneia sau alteia
se simte la fel de dureros ca și
o pasăre ce încearcă să zboare doar cu o aripă.
33 words, memyselfandela/ Adela Galasiu, September 2013
I live waiting on the platform for my destined train. Sometimes I overslept in the waiting room and missed it, but most of the times I was here on the platform when it arrived. I have travelled for a while, I have learned new things but when I got off the train I have realized it has brought me back to this station with a name that I am still trying to decipher.
It’s just a normal train station like all others. With a huge clock, with huge windows, with many people carrying around small and big luggages and baggages stuffed with their own existence. Many run after trains they almost miss, others wait a bit restless for their journey, but the most rare kind of passengers are the ones that radiate happiness when they see their train arriving. Not many smile as they step in their train.
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by Mihai Eminescu
To the star that has sprung
It’s such a long way,
That thousands of years were needed
For the light to reach us.
Perhaps for longtime it had died on the road
In blue distances,
And its ray has just now
Shone to our vision.
The icon of the star that died
Slowly climbs the sky;
It was when one could see it not,
Today we see it and it’s no more.
The same when our longing
Has perished in deep night,
The light of the extinguished love
Still follows us.
(1886, December 1)
“La steaua care-a răsărit
E-o cale-atât de lungă,
Că mii de ani i-au trebuit
Luminii să ne-ajungă.
Poate de mult s-a stins în drum
În depărtări albastre,
Iar raza ei abia acum
Luci vederii noastre,
Icoana stelei ce-a murit
Încet pe cer se suie:
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Memory. One of the strongest muscles in our being. It can contract and ruin your life crushing you underneath or it can gently lift your soul in the light, no matter what life throws at you.
When I was a child my grandmother used to have in a corner of her garden a columbine that used to grow again and again every year. I remember how fascinated I used to be as a little girl by the filigree shape and the delicate yet robust structure of this flower. I could study it day after day when it bloomed or when it’s petals were falling. I used to be very caring with the flowers. And when I say flowers, I mean beings, living creatures that I respected deep in my child’s heart. It never ceased to amaze me and make me happy whenever I saw it, because only there, in that corner of the garden, hidden in shadow under a lilac tree one could have found my columbine. There were no others, it was unique and the neighbours had none. It’s incredible how simple things that adults don’t even notice can be such an awesome thing for a child.
Many years I grew up with the beautiful columbines, studying them as they opened their purple-blue flowers. Columbines meant holiday, freedom and childhood. Not in so many words, but with a warm cosy feeling deep within. Words meant nothing then, only the heart was full of feelings and of a light that an adult is losing somewhere on the way.
This year I was contemplating my bare garden, frozen and with no trace of life. Then suddenly an incredible invisible force, a singular touch of grace has awaken the life in the sleeping buds and wrinkled flowers that rose their heads and stretched their beings in the warm sunshine. Then mesmerised I have discovered hundreds of columbines.
Is it God’s message that life is beautiful and full of diversity on a multitude of layers at the same time? Or is it just a cosmic coincidence? No matter what it is, it has brought back to me that warm cosy feeling in the midst of a busy life full of stress. The morning when I saw the columbines bloom I felt how one must feel when they win the lottery. To others this means nothing. To me it means the return to innocence.
400 words, memyselfandela, June 1st 2015
Photo: Adela Galasiu, May 2015