Friday, January 1, 2016


Anca mihaela bruma


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…
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…
a sense of nothingness
in your everyness…

Future selves
secret second selves,
connecting derivative patterns
and mathematical probabilities
in a Pythagorean sphere of harmony.


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!...


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

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