The Brain Of The Heart Poem by Mihaela Pirjol

I.
The violet ramification of the veins,
with their bruised blood of burnt-love, which,
does not want to pass through the time;
the yellow of the solitary sun, which
is never satisfied with the diurnal luminescence
of its own: it craves the mysterious darkness,
the nocturnal stars; piercing with its solar-rays
the invisible wounds, still unhealed by time.

II.
Time, —the magician, the dexterous illusionist
of steadfastness and stability;
of certainty and past-dreams:
always in a hurry, to take the dreaming
from your barely conceived dreams,
with the sun's dawning and dusking.

III.
The chords of your ribs reverberate
in the howling dungeon of your heart,
bereft of melodious violins: —
they are the cage-bars in which enslaved is
your innocent heart: —guilty.—
guilty of dreaming! —damned for dreaming:
sentenced to an everlasting torture of its wings:
already fractured in a tentative of flight—
an illusion of flight; whilst, looking at
the bright sky of freedom from
its cubic constriction depleted of beatitude.

IV.
The lips remain tacit, trembling upon your face: —
they do not dare to whisper, to sing
the secrets of the heart; suffocated
in a silence betrayed by your beating-heart—
weary of the wasted beatings at the gate
of the rib cage of your isolated chest.

V.
It summons Silence to pronounce its tongue:
it summons the forces of the Universe
to decipher the musicality of the songs unsung,
which gushed out the boiled blood
into the effervescent ether, spasmodic with frenzy:
ever seeking the love-fire of eternal light.

VI.
The Sound echoes in the Light—thirsty for life;
so blind with ears: eager to multiply the meaning
in the brain—brain delusional and desiccated
of the emotions of the heart—the heart
with its sacred second brain of instant
intuitive intelligence, in the electro-magnetic field
of the divine Consciousness: co-ordinating the brain
to think the unthinkable.

VII.
Moist, unspoken words upon the lips;
sealed by silence; anxious for utterance;
febrile with frissons of poetic fire:
the efflorescence of blood—the crimson colours
on the canvas of lovers' romance;
the trepidation of fire in their eyes, —
insatiable with the intensity of love.