dreams of fate

Underwater Waves [Finale]


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Underwater Waves 


No; it wasn’t a promise to return. It was a promise to love me till death took him away. I recall a time when all I wanted was to make him proud of me. I’d always jump at the chance to be with him; I’d listen to his stories of when I was just a little girl; of how he loved me more than he loved his own life. And no matter what happened, he would always be close.

It was a cold winter evening when he sat me down to talk. He said he had to change his life; that he had one last chance for happiness. I sat still listening to his every word. He didn’t look into my eyes; he sat across from me with his head down in torment for what he had to say. I told him not to be sad; that everything was going to be alright. But he did not smile; he merely shook his head. I swallowed that cold bitter pain in my throat, and held back my tears, and when I was ready to speak, I asked him one question. “Do you love her?” He said, “Yes,” and so I told him to do what made him happy. He smiled with pity, and there was nothing more to say; and that question screaming in my head, that one, I never asked.

In the dark of the night, he got his suitcase ready; only the essentials. Then he washed his face, took a last sip of his black coffee, kissed his wife on the cheek, and picked up his suitcase. She asked, “The girls?” He stopped, opened our bedroom door, and tool a peek inside. “No,” he said, “Let them sleep, I will call them in the evening when I’ve arrived.”

In the morning, when I woke up, my mum said he was gone.

So you see, we were doomed from the start with no one to blame. Every love story that has ever been written, has also been lived. And my God, they have all been beautiful; every single one of them. But I will not regret the choices that I have made. I will not witness such pain in the eyes of another little girl; not by my hand. So do not sorrow for the tears I shed, for my waves were never waves at all, and my words were from a love story of a thousand years ago; in a beautiful world; where nothing is ever lost.

But that call he had promised to make;

I remember waiting.

The End

 

 

 Photography Credits: Ray Collins

Metis


Metis 

On blossomed branches,
Hummingbirds rest in the scented shade.
The soil is moist beneath my feet;
What an odd place to find myself –
No recollection of my treading here.
Though it is a time for mourning, neither cries, nor tears to proclaim.

A traveler has much ground to cover, and many regrets to misplace.
I should have stayed with my first certainty:
With no expectations, I would have been spared –
As mountain-tops squander their flawless spring waters,
Lovers ignore the passing of Time.

And with my end so near, I could have shared some truths;
Had it not been for my forgetfulness, to save me from my youth;
But I have always found comfort in soaring above the clouds.

© Maria Fokas/ March 4, 2016/All Rights Reserved

Featherless Wings


Mother Nature

Photograph by Maria Fokas

Featherless Wings 

The branches dare to disturb;
Moving in a motion that tangles their world.
Their whispers; in the winds of passing seasons –
The fear of triumph is absent,
They are alive, that is their quest –
Conversations of love do not break their delicate wings.

Trees have wings?
Wings without feathers; fly by the scent of their leaves.
They capture the day, and stir the night.
No words to torture their souls –
They reflect on prolonged possibilities;
And drink from the songs of passers-by.

 

© Maria Fokas/ Feb 17 2016/All Rights Reserved

Wild is the Wind


Wild is the Wind

               

Wild is the Wind

Tame me with your broken heart.
Embrace me with your lips;
– You have been all things to me.
In the innocence of love; In the dusk of dreams;
– You have been all things to me.

 

© Maria Fokas 2016/All Rights Reserved –Altered Illustration by M. F.

The Bridge Across the Sea


The bridge

The Bridge Across the Sea by Maria Fokas

On my death-bed, I say my last goodbye.
I do not utter his name; a forgiving tragedy;
And to his final question: I speak a lie.

I shall not shed another tear for the moments denied.
I shall not shed another tear for foolish twisted humanity –
I shall not shed another tear for that weakness to suppose.

Erase me from your past; . . . the years you have forsaken me –
Each genuine day;
Each generous hour;
A love I embraced: In pure desire, his lips I kissed –
Every bit of madness; the craziness that tempts the soul.
I took for caring: the longing, and the need –
Every plunge into the darkness of my fears;
The times we hid from that harsh world of ours;
The poetry they devoured; between our silence, and our words;
By your strife; my heart has turned to stone – Erase them all!

A fictitious reflection of me has passed away;
I did not utter his name, today.

I crossed the bridge; without his darkness in my arms;
I wish for no more time.

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved/Photograph by Maria Fokas [Dublin]

Wandering Winds of Time


the winds

Wandering Winds of Time by Maria Fokas

Put pen to paper; and carry the winds astray:
All that is here; will one day disappear; I heard them say.
So put pen to paper for untamed songs of love remembered:

Gaze upon the wandering sky; as if to paint its essence –

Remind me of that kiss in such restless rapture; when you were mine:
The whisper of your hidden thoughts; freeze that moment;
Tell me again, how you held my hand; though hope was gone.
Don’t let them say that we were fools to love!
Their craven twists of envy will dull away in time.

Put pen to paper, and let them all know!
Every feast we savored, was a spark to light our way.

Carry the winds of time, to no end:
Salvage our shattered dreams, from each alluring storm.
And in your precious words, fear not the thrill of doubt:

Though the gods were never on our side,
I was your muse, and you were mine;
In that brief moment of eternity.

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved/Photograph by Maria Fokas [Dublin Sky]

Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage


BMC

[There is a pleasure in the pathless woods] George Gordon Byron

   There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
   There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
   There is society where none intrudes,
   By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
   I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
   From these our interviews, in which I steal
   From all I may be, or have been before,
   To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal.

   Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
   Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
   Man marks the earth with ruin--his control
   Stops with the shore;--upon the watery plain
   The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
   A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,
   When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
   He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

   His steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields
   Are not a spoil for him,--thou dost arise
   And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields
   For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise,
   Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
   And send’st him, shivering in thy playful spray
   And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
   His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth: —there let him lay.

The Passion of a Writer’s Pen


The Passion of a Writer's Pen

The Passion of a Writer’s Pen by Maria Fokas

A sword to pierce my heart for every tide
I spit out a raw escape in a gasp of thought
To mark specks of profound recklessness
To feel the bleeding heartbeat of my fingertips
To taste the dread of a struggling shadow
To hear the whispering force of a lover’s birth
To lose oneself in every re-crossing sunset
A dream of the world; a gush of raging grace
From original light to final darkness
Stories bound to a hope of existence;
My cry for life –

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Artwork: Whatever I see by WeirdSam/Abstract Photography

[A project for Matthew Chikono]

Shattered Pieces of Time


Neel 02 01 2015 Abstract Photography 2

Shattered Pieces of Time by Maria Fokas

Last night, you held my hand
We flew below a golden sky
At a distance a faint melody
A familiar touch; a soft sigh

Out of my sleep; Uncertainty
Has love been cursed again?
All possibilities fade away
No expectations; no apparent fears 

My eyes tire; I can barely recall
In a world where time is scarce
Why do we dwell in losing?

[Love that alters when alteration comes
was never love at all] 

But . . . my friend. 

 

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Photography: Neel 02/01/2015 Abstract Photography