8th of MARCH

(Women’s day celebration)

Tastes of falsehood

the smell of these flowers

offered by the hands

that so many times

left marks on my body

as many as the clouds in the sky

on a winter day

nor do I recognise

this smile of yours

marked by wrinkles

of a man who faces life

dragging with him

heavy the burden of impiety

Printed in my mind

your evil gaze

say when

you blame me 

for things never said or

things never done

pouring over me

your failures your defeats

I tell my pain

to the wind

the will to go

stifled inside me 

the cold you brought into my heart

chilly like the wind of Buran

the darkness in my soul

like the arctic nights

and ripped you have my hope 

and all my dreams

Of me

of the woman of yore

just a portrait remains

hanging on a wall

in this faded-walled house

where I wander as in a limbo

BECAUSE I AM LOVE

I wish I could sing
to cheer your mornings up
be a painter 
to portray your face
write poems to tell 
of my love for you
be joyful and bubbly
to colour of pink
your gloomy hours

Be lovely and
you proud of me

or clay to shape
according to your desires

And I could be fond of the sea
not to fear the storms
if you were a sailor
and devotedly wait
your coming back
from distant lands
because I am Love