Street Encounters
I just gave my European coin
to a South American dancer.
I did it for the sake of art
thinking myself good at guessing people's ethnicity.
If I'm wrong, I apologize...
but he gave us such a thrilling breakdance performance
borrowed from one named
after an archangel
who, only God knows which devils he fought... his own, more likely.
Later on, I tripped over a dismissed hoodie;
a soft, leafy and dusty one that
felt like leavened dough
and a man resting on concrete
looked too tired of being framed in every beholder's obscure camera.
I shut the prism of my glance
like at the sight of a naked man
when you're neither at the nudists
nor in a museum, nor in bed.
This man, bright in his head
and quite distinct
he must have been, I fancied.
maybe he is a poet now;
nearly every street wanderer is...
I glimpsed quite a large amount
of money being exchanged
between us
as I dreamed of bringing his life
to you here, for fifty euros
if I had them
so I gave him my heart
that made pure love
with his unaware heart
and my man, next to me, saw and understood us both.
It was an encounter between
two poets - one true, one false.
On The Same Boat
You are trapped in two dimensions
with no helmet, nor armour,
and, pinned in splintered verses
with deftly wielded words
that are sweet, lethal daggers,
you carry your own battles
undercover long waged,
stuck between now and never,
but not yet willing to become Memory
and sure you're not ready
for what us others call love.
Every random love thought, in its course is being stabbed
then is cynically packed
and hurled with mighty wrath
on some beaten and bruised shore
while an obscure force still toughens your heart
setting all that you lived
half in lead, half in stone.
The fate, often treacherous, could undo certain knots,
could unravel at our feet a carpet purple and glorious,
and could loosen the hinges
of our minds that have sailed
many waters on earth
but never yet sailed the Styx.
And now, we're together
on the same boat, adrift, with no compass or oars
and so high is the risk...
A Day At The Circus
If I unleashed my heart
it would go down the path to perdition
that might be adorned with surreal visions
thus, like a clown at the circus,
I fancy attires with colourful laces
that embellish us both
in a fanciful attempt
of preserving what's unstained
as I walk my own tightrope.
From up there I can see a cracked picture
hung on a crystalline wall
but shard-like features of yours liquefy raw and unrhymed
in the crepuscular glow
thus I descend the serpentine path
where I seek at least a part of your soul
but there, I perceive with my senses
your tremendous howl
and I take it all in up to implosion.
A puzzle of longing depicts our lives
and with ethereal feathers,
every piece meets the sky.
Maybe they were launched
for no reason at all
or like Cupid's arrows, from the proverbial bow,
but the completion of the whole picture
is not a thing of this world.
Mihaela Melnic lives and writes in Rome, Italy, where her prose and poetry evolve and take different shapes with every new life experience.
Her recent work has appeared or are forthcoming in various venues, including Spillwords magazine, Transcendent Zero Press, Impspired magazine, Dissident Voice and Alien Buddha Press. Her latest work, the book "Evermore", written with co-author Scott Thomas Outlar, was released in September 2021 through 17Numa Press.
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