Requiem for you

I shall not think of you
as a lunar creature or forgive you
for being less than you are
from Monday to Sunday.

In a year or maybe less
you will be remembered
like a stupid mistake made
when I was trying to learn
a new language and my tongue
didn’t obey my mind.
I may even laugh at your sleepy mouth
or weak French.
(how could you decipher me if you can’t
even read in between my lines?)

I like to think you are dead
so if you aren’t yet, you can die
as you please.
I can make a wonderful widow
in a black tube dress.
A hat with a veil would hide my guilty eyes.

I must say I am not sorry for anything.
I swapped you for an old edition of Kama Sutra
long before I could say goodbye to tolerance.
I really do not care if life runs over you
or if your irresponsive and irresponsible heart
stops beating.
People like you are mourned by darkness.

Karla Bardanza

A poem for the lambs

It’s too late to clean the stains
on the window or darns the holes
for our eyes adjust to the dark.

The voice was soft but she still fears it
even though she has learnt the motion
of planets and how to curl time at night
when the tides of the past swirl in and on,
dragging her to ignored depths.

Her eyes were exhausted before
she could understand, digested and
metabolized everything but
who knows what she feels as
she transforms herself in a metaphor.

Silence and times execute what
was planned for she wasn’t consulted
about fate.
And when she sees into
another lamb as they see out of her,
she hides words under her tongue.

Karla Bardanza

Mighty One Of The East

I summon and call thee up
Mighty one of the East.
Aradia, Nuit, Thoth and Shu
are dancing among the Sylphs and Zephyr
for you bring the gifts of wisdom and inspiration
as Magick breathes in trees
and flowers are in flirtation.

An amethyst and a topaz
sleep in my calloused hands.
Flutes melodies beyond the clouds
invade this sacred hour
when spiders weave the threads of love
and hawks dream about power.

The sky is so perfumed:
lavender and myrrh embraces the air.
The day is breaking and Spring is here.
The Goddess shall cast my fate
for the night does dissolve and disappear.

I summon and call thee up
Mighty one of the East
to come and bring the music of the birds
and the voice of the sea
just for my heart,
just for me.

Karla Bardanza

Resurrection

I read your letter
as the words cried with me.
Every night I am not here.
I am holding you tight,
whispering in your ear:
“good night Jorge, te amo…
Have sweet dreams”
Then I hum you a song:
a lullaby in Portuguese
and my eyes melt in yours.

It’s been pretty hard
for both of us.
You can’t sleep,
I can’t go ahead.
How many times have you saved me?
How many times have I saved you?
Why didn’t life teach us how to fly?

That song tore my insides.
Can’t shake the dust off my wings, my gentle man,
Meu bem-amado.
Everything will never be enough
without you.
Where we’ve been is good and gone.
Where have you been?
Where have I gone?
Do we have a choice?

I can hear you play live
the same song as I catch the bus
to work, feeling I can’t carry on
anymore for I don’t know what
I’m doing here.
George, say it will be alright.
George…hush…no tears now…
Why am I crying? Why are you crying?

You asked me where I find the pleasures
in my life?
In you.
You asked me where the pain in my life is.
In you.
George, I don’t know what life has planned
or if I will survive my weaknesses, weirdnesses
and sense of not belonging to this galaxy, planet,
country, state, body and soul.
But one thing is crystal clear: I love you.
I suffer when you suffer,
I dream when you dream,
I sleep when you sleep.

George, why is life so short
and love so deep?

Iris (the Infinite Radiant is)
might be weeping for you and me
for you left me adrift in a sea of covers
and I slept in a ocean of dreams.

George,I read your letter 32 times.
I read your letter till the words blurred
and the world stopped revolving
and for some time I was alive again.


Karla Bardanza

Meu Bem-amado - My beloved one

George and Iris

George saved me
when I was writing my epitaph
with a knife.
The window was ajar,
the glasses stained
and I was wrapping my arms
around the invisible clouds.

He told me to shake
the dust off my sick wings
and light a candle.
I should concentrate on the flames
because I was the flame, the energy,
the warmth I couldn’t find anywhere.
He used to call me little star.
(I started to think I was one)

George taught me to believe in IRIS
-The Infinite Radiant Is -
and to bear up what I had to.
I did and I am still doing my best
to smile for George is worth any effort.

Once he said my poems were full of words
he couldn’t understand the meaning and
that real love happens when we see the dance
in each other’s eyes.

George is always right.
He is a singer, a painter and a poet.
He is a Little Star too:
The one that always shines
in my dark sky when I lay on the roof
at night and wonder how far forever is.

Once he asked me if
I could see Gods’ truth in us.
George blessed me:
I can see not only the truth.
I can see the love too.

Karla Bardanza

For George