ANCA MIHAELA BRUMA

Anca mihaela bruma

WHEN I FOUND THE LOVE FOOTPRINTS…

When I found the Love footprints

I recessed… from Life…

Ceased my earthy sojourn…

I stumbled no more

between so many lexicons of forgetting…

Lost the cryptic utterances

of what could, might or should be,

the Truth… or False!...

I am not seeking the finding

as I do not find the seeking…

Still…

You see yourself outside you,

I see you inside myself…

When Love footprints were found

I stumbled no more between dots,

I just sniffed

one thousand years in one day,

and quarters of heavens were built

inside my cathartic calibrations…

The eyes of a thinker

and the feeling of a knower,

a hearer of unknown traces,

the multiples within simplicity

and eternity’s dips

of these countless realities.

When I found the Love footprints

The absence became present,

and… I know:

I am pre-sent to BE

in this everlastingness fate

which sounds like a formula.

No heart geometrics,

no inner alphabets…

Simply,

a sense of nothingness

in your everyness…

Future selves

or…

secret second selves,

connecting derivative patterns

and mathematical probabilities

in a Pythagorean sphere of harmony.

THE AUTUMN OF OUR SPRING

My autumnal words fell on the sidewalk of Love!

You looked like Autumn… I behaved like Spring…

I found you when I had lost you

In this autumn… of our spring.

I re-arranged my rustic colors

so Love will gain a new anthem

with fluid steps and no numb regrets,

forgotten overdue epiphanies,

lost stolen rainbows

and red echoes with tangerine taste.

In this autumn of our spring

with its golden trail and acoustic wings

the season paints its words as a grand finale

while your leaves whisper secrets to the World

and a puff of wind lingers our photographic memories

as journals left and long forgotten on the path’s end.

A stolen cry, a remembered loss of innocence,

as my desires hung on Sun’s shoulder,

I see a repainted canvas of us

with cycled memories on the hills’ canopy.

How sensual this autumn is!

Spiraling its space… tumbling its distance,

prolonged myself by flaming orange leaves.

During this autumn of our spring

my World turned into a September embrace,

October tinted your presence

With blossoming hues of green-orange undertones.

A dreamy dream… an autumnal fugue,

during lost Summer epopee,

and I breathed… with November pulse.

My soul’s crimson is ambered and rubied

And I feel… autumned…

I left my cinnamon spice to learn more about your beauty

the citrine embers of your eyes under the raindrops,

watched the cosmic dance on your skin, a whisper in time,

my temple of words still carry a forgotten white procession.

And love again… and again… dawns upon my future self

with rain scented winds, thrumming my life in your heart…

Words still scream the nuances of your disappearances

sailing across my punctuated flight…

Of so much yearning… I have sharpened more wings…

In this autumn of our spring, I will stumble no more

behind your voice… as Life cannot be sung half!...

A stolen cry… a remembered loss of innocence,

and I have learnt how to die… by living!...

OF SO MUCH YEARNING!...

Love!... of so much yearning

I do not know how to count my steps anymore...

of so much longing I grew a forest

on the verge of the World...

of so much craving even the soul

has taken the color of Time!...

Life!.. keeps biting me voluptuously,

wakefulness has become my domain,

because of so many summers

with grizzled blizzards...

Love!... of so much yearning

even our distances have become slippery...

of so much longing I have learned

the rhythm of the occurrences,

to scratch the trees' crusts

so my soul may remain untarnished,

no fears to enclose me

and the sight of our route not to be adrift...

Of so much longing, my Love

even nights lost their prominence,

I wriggle among silenced innuendos

but my Love bloomed in a vertex

and an asymmetrical parabola surges its sensations...

Love!... of so much yearning

I have gathered belated dawns,

meeting you only at the junction

between deja vu and wingbeats...

I master each day how to love my tears

and plant unspoken seeds so,

your Sky will make them grow...

On the verge of my World 

the Oblivion has just started!...

Just a stone remains bewildered!

Even the night smells of amnesia...

In this bittersweet longing

my heart took your heart's frame!...

Anca Mihaela Bruma