Fragile Caresses

Wakes up earth, sun’s laughter

Again beauty defeats the beast

Robbed my sanity spirits of the Far East

There even dust is precious to run after.

Crossing the seven seas

In holy Lotus to bathe

Deep cuts to swathe

And breathe, the Eastern breeze

“Morning Blossom” Painting by Vladimir Kush

Great Mekong, I visited first

Raising my fallen heaven

From ethereality, I let loose lungs to raven

Healing an aging thirst…

Two canaries were in a chase

Slowing down, seeking a landscape

Safe enough, so curious eye they could escape

Soon picked a berry hidden space

As they landed their tired wing,

They caressed, kissed and embraced

Uncaring any more of being traced

They’re free, and that’s the way they sing…

One…two… and three peaks

Exhausted their heart beat

But couldn’t cease missing till they meet

Once again thirsty for love ached their beaks

With each kiss, blushes my bloom;

Fragile they are caring for no laws

Chaining what’s between knees and nose

O’ how perfect is life with no taboos of Human doom!


66 thoughts on “Fragile Caresses

  1. As fragile as the clouds in the desert
    Your feet now rested
    The flower you treasure beside
    A soul to bridge the divide

    🙂 lovely, Mmm…

    • & my night is brightened by your presence…
      Missed your words; I’m certain I’ve missed a lot of risen skies throughout my leave…hope I get time to catch the train with all those talents I admire.
      Much love

  2. As always the ‘ethereality’ of you writing takes the reader on a mystical journey, not unlike Carlos Castenaedas in “The Teachings of Don Juan”. I rose on the wind with your words.

  3. Oh how I loved this Mira. What a gift to us your words are–just now I’ve been to lofty places and am surrounded by unhindered love. Beautiful my dear!

  4. Oh, Mira……….for me, there is only the journey of the soul ~ although some of the journey can only be felt by the soles of my feet, others only heard in the soft music of the wind, others through the words of strangers, or the breathless breathing of dancers in the dark. I love this! ~ Love you, Bobbie

    • Its all about “The Journey” that starts&ends within but as is the war made of many battles is “The Journey” made of trips; those you counted in addition to beats recorded: to the echo of sweat-drops falling from a farmer’s forhead to revive thirsty buds; to the cries of a hungry child who may forget the coldness of a street if those barking down his stomach are shut up; to the heavy breath of an old woman left alone on her deathbed yet scared not of death but dying having none around to give to her last drop of love….
      Thanks for the love; your presence is valued; Much love

  5. Simply put – another work of poetic art!
    I love the imagery – the desire of two entwined in passion to escape the judging eyes of passers by!

  6. Oh yes indeed! What a wonderful thought at the end. You did it again, always mesmerize me with your rhythm and choice of words….how do you do it? Some things are well worth the mystery…..loved it Mira!

    • O’ Celeste, I’d reply your question If you reply this:
      how you put the main artery in me in to real work with simple words, sweet comments & magnificent art…:)
      Thanks for being around..much Love back

  7. Some years ago, in Baku, Azerbaijan, a woman of my dreams told me ”your heart belongs in the Orient.” I read this lovely poem of yours many times, and I cannot escape how I feel everytime I read it; that it fits exactly what she meant all those years ago by the waterfront in Baku.

"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought & the thought has found its words"; I know mine's make no sun shines, but....YOU can tell better!

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