Spirituality

Suspended


light-in-the-darkness

Suspended by Maria Fokas

Sweet scented air,

In that flawless darkness.

Forever blazing wild;

Across the marauder sky.

A pulse in the break of quiet,

Of summer sadness hum.

Sweet scented air,

Between the folds of game.

Cities with dimmed lights,

Fading away.

Sweet scented air,

In my suspended hour.

© Maria Fokas/January 13th 2017/All Rights Reserved –

Photo by: light-in-the-darkness | Source of Inspiration

Everything and Nothing – Day Three


The Art of Losing

Thought of the Day by Maria Fokas

The Art of Losing

– 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

 

Everything and Nothing – Day One


Eternal love 6

Thought of the Day by Maria Fokas

Happiness Abound

A simple thought I woke up to today. . . If you are not happy alone, you will probably never be happy with anyone else. A relationship is not meant to cater your wants, or to fill any black holes others may have scarred you with. A relationship is meant to celebrate the senses of life in the most imaginative ways, as you share yourself with another human being – to create paths together where there were none before – Now, that sounds like happiness! Let’s suppose this is the secret to every successful relationship, and see what happens; what do you think? Does it sound like I know what I’m talking about? Well, just for the record . . . I know nothing.

 

© Maria Fokas/March 6th 2016/All Rights Reserved –

Metis


Metis by Maria Fokas

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 by Maria Fokas

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

Scars Set in Stone


corfu 3

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


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]

Somewhere only we know


Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905 – 2004) 

  Photographs by © Maria Fokas 29/7/2015/All Rights Reserved

The Black Rose


The Black Rose

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

Thorns of Time (Part II)


Grace Widy

Thorns of Time (part II)  by Maria Fokas

I watched your words turn into stone.
              – First you left;
 And then, I said goodbye

One by one, tomorrows disappear, like candles end.
             – Up in the sky, the clouds manifest in mystery,
 First love recalls the fear of oneness, inevitable paths to claim

Damn those walls, like mountaintops that never end.
             – Losing leaves a painful sting behind,
 A hovering shadow that clings on till we say farewell –

We write, and write, and then forget the reasons why.
             – A promise broken or misplaced, and then fades away,
The key is lost, and then is found, with no regrets to mend –

And still, I’m grateful for the things you gave me.
             – For the moon, for the stars; for the rest of time,
  And for the scent of love; you kissed my lips with freedom  –

First, you left;
             -Then, I let the candles burn till the night was gone.
That was the end; nothing was wrong –

© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved

Photo Credits: Grace Widy