Through the Breaking by Maria Fokas
She stood between the cracks,
As far as she could see;
whistling out of reach.
Those beautiful clouds,
Could make any mess disappear. . .
© Maria Fokas/July 24th 2016 – Dublin/All Rights Reserved
Black & White by Maria Fokas
The grandest love story ever told;
Born out of each other; into every form.
Disguised to prevail against each other:
A hidden compass in my heart for your voyage –
Your waking choices, and your sleeping adventures;
And in this world; connected by the mask of time –
He seeks the reflection of all things in majestic balance.
He refers to the ice-burg as a wasted truth;
A mountain that touches the sky; upside down, he claims –
And that same sky on the other side,
Will never touch the sands beneath the oceans of you.
And though you are bound to change,
With every change of every moment –
You are still the same, my Love.
Oh, and how the Sun loved the Moon:
Forever devoted to crossing paths, but never to touch.
And some day I will know; some day in the ink of your thoughts –
And you will paint the darkness in my eyes with the light in yours.
Some day, the pauses between our notes will be soothed by your smile.
For what is music without rest between the melodies of notes?
Oh, how selfish must love become before it turns into hate;
And back into love again . . . but I have nothing to declare.
Some day I will know all the things that were left unsaid.
In laughter, and in cries –
In caress, and in vice –
You are the center of all things.
But in the end,
I may doubt all but one; you were my spark, and I your darkest joy –
– How our world would have been different,
If we could have agreed; at least on that.
© Maria Fokas/April 27th 2016/All Rights Reserved – Photograph by ©Yucel Basoglu
Forbidden Friendship by Maria Fokas
Which starts with enchantment –
Which belongs to no one,
Which devours its expectations
Which feels unique at first glance
Which abides by no rules
Which traps itself in passion
Which begins to fear its existence
Which shares a weakness to stray
Which keeps secrets from itself
Which lies beneath the sins of a broken heart
Forbidden friendship; which is deadly to the touch
© Maria Fokas/ April 5th 2016/All Rights Reserved – Artist Credits Unknown
Illustration Editing M.F.
Love Curse by Maria Fokas
Racing through in slow motion, the ticking of time.
I cannot speak today;
A ruthless sharp haste to my beating heart.
Chaotic throbbing of a grand mistake.
The difference between love, and love –
An ill confusion;
Misconceptions of a mystery.
In explanations, it disappears;
Time to say goodbye –
Oh why, am I lacking such a skill?
What keeps a heart wrapped around an evil hope?
Is it the way his words hold on, when he pushes me away?
Or his silent presence, lurking endlessly in my head?
Does he ever feel pain, when he hurts me?
In a faint whisper, I heard someone say;
“You always hurt, when you hurt the one you love.”
The difference between love, and love –
© Maria Fokas/April 8th 2016/All Rights Reserved – Credits: hair-drawing Christopher Straver
Thought of the Day by Maria Fokas
– Elizabeth Bishop wrote: “The art of losing isn’t hard to master.”
With so much losing every day, it seems that we should be accepting it as an inevitable end; but we rarely do. Every time we fall in love with a moment, a unique person, or that life long accomplishment, its fragile end is always near; it seems.
– But what exactly is it that we grieve; the moment, the person, the accomplishment; or is it ourselves within that loss? Everything we’ve ever loved, and lost, has shaped us into who we are. So there cannot be a complete loss in losing; I keep telling myself.
– I am grateful for War, and Love Poets; they take refuge in the pain of losing, knowing our lives depend on it. We plunge into those worlds and embrace the darkness. When it’s war, we mourn, and when it’s love, it’s a beautiful depiction of life. With their words, we realize that we are not alone in our losing; maybe, we even give meaning to our loss.
A Poet’s muse marks a moment by opposing every norm of its time; it elevates love as the essence of truth, rendering it more precious within the element of loss.
But, about this destined precious existence with an inevitable end; I don’t want to master this art of losing.
© Maria Fokas/March 18th 2016/All Rights Reserved
Scars Set in Stone by Maria Fokas
Just because you buried our journey
Does not make it disappear
Just because you have forsaken me
Does not mean you never loved me
That I have succumbed to defeat
Does not mean I wanted to leave
Your silence never depicted indifference
As my smile did not prove a trace of hope
Of stories which trouble the heart
In words which sicken the soul
Everywhere an abundance of woe:
A half-finished love affair bound to crucifixion
A misdeed triggered to destroy a kind gesture
A deserted dream to leverage false sense of balance
Courage disintegrates in glass boxes of loose ties
Day races by as night pricks through the cracks of dawn
Oh, but to deny one’s place in this world
That would be the greatest crime of all
© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved/Photograph by Maria Fokas [Paleokastritsa – Corfu]
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 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
The Black Rose by Maria Fokas
Once upon a time, there was a Rose, who would come to live in the memories of others.
It started with a human hand planting a seed. The Rose and the hand were unique. No two entities could have been more diverse, but there was one thing they both shared, and that was their need to exist. So, the hand knowing that time was running out, decided to plant a seed which was predestined to becoming a Black Rose. And as the hand nurtured this seed into being, the Rose came to know life.
The Nurturer was gone, not long after. The Rose was heartbroken for a very long time, but it survived. Many visitors chanced upon its beauty as the seed kept coming back, only to descend into the soil again. And as the cycle of eternity endured, the Rose would yearn for its Nurturer, not knowing why it had been deserted. And during that time, the Rose would wonder about its purpose. Then one day, its unbearable pain chose to forget. And with this escape, a comforting thought came into being: What if the hand was actually another Rose?
Unimaginable at first, but this strange and breathtaking revelation began to grow within the Rose: if I was created by another Rose, than I too can create one of my own, it thought. The Rose, being captivated by this discovery, chose never again to dwell on absurdities with no graspable explanations.
In the end, it was grateful to that One Rose which gave it hope. This memory, it would hold sacred forever after. And that would become the purpose of the Rose.
© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved
Photography by Ketmara
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