Painting by Paul Lorenzi

It is not the heart that bends,

bows and touches the nebulae

and almost half of this galaxy

with a delicate gesture.

It is not the heart that measures

the absolute, the unexpected dimension

of death when pleasure still kills amorously.

It is the body melting in the Milky Way,

crying over the spilt milk of yesterdays,

it is the body licking the stains on the floor

as our loving weak lips dream of the past

and ask for more.

Karla Bardanza

   

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2012

Painting by Lynn Noelle Rushton

He touched my hand, saying

the Sufis believed that the space

surrounding our hearts contained

connections to every part of

our mind and body

I gazed at him, quietly, drinking

his words, trying to quench my thirst

of intensity, hiding this fragile version

of myself, always so afraid of the time.

His name still rolls around in my mouth,

his image still comes to me, to my body

and mind at the same time:

I see and feel him

in the Unity of my Being.

He might be drifting around in the clouds

where I will never be.

I know he went towards the Truth:

Tarigaat, he would say again.

It is all nothing in nothing.

It is all love in love.

From pre-eternity to post-eternity

this heart of mine will be in his hands.

for everything shall pass but us.

Karla Bardanza

 

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2011

Painting by Donna Shvil

Her heart got wet.
as darkness resented dawn.

The door was too far
to be open or closed
and everything seemed to say
that her pain wasn’t necessary
anymore.

Lying on the floor,
she was losing  again what
she had already lost.
She suffered boldly:
it takes courage to feel those things
that pull out our ribs, filling us with nothing.

She had no vocation
for pain, for disagreements with clarity.
She ached while she could,
she gave herself the privilege of mourning
the spilt milk, the past, the small tragedies.

When she raised,
she made the forgivable mistake
of thinking about being in love again
and as the first ray of light flooded
the room, her heart dried in the sun.

Karla Bardanza

    Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2011

As I lie where your shadow

watches my deserted heart,

the jealous sky flows toward me,

blessing my divine desire,

enchanting me with those unapparent clouds

you painted when love

was the verb that caught fire.

Lost in my endless days,

I enter life again, uncertain of all,

dreaming and being destroyed

by the storms of July

as I see my withered flowers blooming

just for my eyes while sorrow does fall.

Love is beauty itself that lives,

it is a miracle I can't escape.

I am immaculate now

and something in my blood owns

the universe.

Here neither reason can be conceived

nor knowledge can explain why

I read the roses while I listen to

my heart's delight.

Here eternity holds the night.

I go by the windy street,

pushing back time, touching your soul

with my soft fingers, thinking about

what lies beyond you and me

as your presence crosses across my brain,

stealing my heart away, filling my empty body

with love and delicate air.

Here wolves and eagles sigh on my serene canvas.

Here stars and stones whisper

for love needs no words.

Karla Bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2011

Now that the Sun is in Leo
and winter undresses the trees,
coldness looks through the keyholes,
spying those who shiver and chatter
during the night as the south wind
blows, carrying leaves which lay
on the desolate streets of life.

There is a woman by a blurry window.
her soul searches for answers, her heart
grows each day, waiting for someone
who will never give the answers she
needs to hear.

A tall man is smoking his life away
on a porch, thinking about all the mistakes
staining his hands, cursing the bloody moon
as his eyes itch.

They are painting a canvas which
cannot be hung on the wall.
They were defeated but they still don't know
if the battle was lost.

A little girl is playing in her bedroom.
She closes her eyes and hope embraces
her bruised body. She is a princess
without a crown, a fairy without
one of the wings,
She is something lost and found.

Every night she prays for better days.
She doesn't know but a miracle is in
store for her.

Suddenly a woman opens the little girl's door
(she was by the window before)
She caresses her girl's bald head,
and lulls her to sleep as the Gods in heavens,
with their ever open eyes, bless again that
love so perfect and deep.


Karla Bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2011

After the storm,
I lulled her, licking
her bruises, healing
her wounds, whispering
words unheard and unseen.

Her untamed eyes didn't open
and for fifteen minutes the cloudless
sky wept.
We stayed there ritualizing the moment,
knitting the stars, counting the waves,
thinking about the future when the future
couldn't think of us.

Oh! This love was painted with tints of eternity:
a masterpiece in my heart of stone.

For some time I couldn't write,
I couldn't feel and right now
I wonder how long it will take us
to heal.

And the answers are silent and simple:
What is love but this immesurable
intensity binding us to pleausre
and pain?
What is love Yasmim but to raise
from the dead again?



Karla Bardanza

For my daughter.