DIANA MARIN

Tag: poems

  • A poem: Heavenly aspirations

    I want to purify my body and soul
    to reach my version of
    blasphemous heaven.
    I want to summon the stillness
    of the dormant light within
    to exorcise all feelings
    provoking inner conflicts.
    To become an empty vessel
    for a moment,
    penetrated by light
    no longer dormant,
    now shining so bright.
    Such cravings are born out of
    a darkness
    with the power to enslave
    any spirit
    and yet, I am its conqueror
    I have tamed it and moulded it
    into something beautiful,
    fulfilling, ever-growing, and hopefully,
    ever-lasting.
    Once you taste this version of
    inner freedom, untainted,
    it’s the only nurturing addiction,
    the most welcome overindulgence,
    the most heavenly sin.

  • Various poems

    Catatonic state

    I feel your ashes
    like quicksand
    I’m sucked into
    so I’m standing still
    trying to enjoy the view.

     

    Your faith

    I never confessed this but
    your faith helped keep me
    anchored in myself
    whenever the currents started
    hitting from all sides.
    I just wanted to thank you
    for still existing in my mind.

     

    Extensions

    Extensions of me
    are ramifying under
    your skin.
    Does it hurt when
    I unravel your bloody
    nightmares?

     

    Discrepancy

    As you weed them out,
    slowly, the space between
    you and the other you-
    both mental concepts-
    will become smaller
    and smaller
    until they merge into one
    at which point you will look
    around, filled with life,
    no longer tainted, you will
    open your eyes and see
    the discrepancy is abolished
    but so is everyone else.

  • A poem: A smile among ruins

    All dead things are
    resurrected
    by the phantom smile-
    you conjure it
    when the world collapses:
    that lovely,
    foreign yet familiar
    equivocal smile
    your mind translates into
    life and pure hope
    stays engraved in your memory;
    through mirroring,
    you borrow it
    and unknowingly pass it on
    to someone else-
    that is the sweet beauty
    of connection.
    –

    Alternative ending:
    that is the bittersweet beauty
    of apparent connection.

  • A poem: The Rite

    Her face aglow,
    she performs her rite
    gracefully, like the snow
    in the silver lunar light;
    deathly hair, startling eyes,
    soul-enhancing
    white night purity, necromancing-
    nude porcelain skin,
    beauty within
    whispers of sin;
    knowledge sought after
    flirting with disaster
    secrets held in astral shells
    uttered in diffuse spells
    the occult- her only master.

  • A poem: Unfiltered

    Clinical,
    surreal emptiness.
    Chocolate-scented wood.
    Smell of new and
    non-alcoholic intoxication.
    Life as art for art’s sake.

    Neon light flickers as you blink
    infected by dizziness.

    No longer tone-deaf to the harmonies
    of your own soul,
    you don’t shrink for someone else to grow.

    An invisible corpse in the plastic bag
    winks at you from the corner-
    madness, it grows
    in sanity.

    Lifeless but intense:
    you don’t pray for another,
    you prey for yourself.

     

  • A Poem: Bloody act

    Two bodies wrapped in an embrace
    in a tomb of glitter and frost-
    the blood lingers while they kiss,
    then it pours gently down the legs
    of the cradle surrounded by mist.

    The lake of tears reflects the moon of sorrow-
    trembling, fluid, unpredictable;
    their red eyes locked, unblinking,
    while eternity replaces the morrow.

  • A poem: Echoes

    A silhouette merging with the unknown-
    all that is left is your breath in the cold air
    as you exhale in slow motion.
    I speak in shadows,
    you respond with specters of light,
    haunting every word-
    making sense of it all;
    I choose to live in the now,
    but if you whisper in my ear
    I will take decades to figure out
    why you chose to disappear
    that day
    when I ran down the hallway-
    gargoyles staring from above-
    for a second I thought I could hear
    another set of footsteps
    under a different weight
    even after I accepted your longing
    for the netherworld.
    The statues were grotesque,
    threatening, demon-like in thunder and lightning,
    and still, I hoped that hallway would never end
    just so I could hear the sounds again and again
    and convince myself they weren’t merely
    echoes of my footsteps into the unknown.

  • A poem: November

    The vanishing words,
    the vanishing images,
    the shedding
    of selves like autumn leaves;
    of withered lives on wrinkled paper,
    dust off the treasure chest
    in the desert, next to a snake
    regenerating its skin
    polished,
    your porcelain appearance melting into
    the undefined-
    does the new verse annihilate
    or build you?
    perhaps it is the fading portrait
    either that, or the smile in between
    either that, or the infinite encounters
    with the ineffable

    You write, you cross out
    another identity and over to
    another vision.

  • Poetry

    Awaiting 

    Butterflies spiralled in silver –
    petals sleeping on the floor
    Eternally moved, I quiver-
    Tenderly pressed against the door.

    Of the senses 

    Nostalgia persists
    soft as velvet,
    sad as lace,
    sweet and intoxicating
    as your scent sliding down my spine.

    The fragrant city 

    Through the alleys,
    scents of old seasons
    scatter in the urban rain.
    Guided by our roots,
    the long-withered dreams of being
    seem to be reborn from pain.

    Midnight 

    Weak,
    gently wrapped in white
    I seek
    a cure for the night.

    Purgatory 

    I feel
    I love
    and then I hate
    my fire and my demons,
    just before I see your celestial smile,
    you icy devil
    bringing me back to life,
    to an illusion of life
    which I knowingly accept as truth.
    My complicity – dispersed in time
    until it is forgotten
    The world – no longer in black and white
    it burns
    I am only ashes.

    Identity 

    Fragrant relics of the heart
    crown you as the faerie queen over
    the land of forgotten whims
    with a rose delicately smothered in your hands
    and pearls hanging from your pale thin neck
    A down-to-earth Snow White is what I see in you
    when all that matters is how you see yourself.

    Elevation 

    When the past smells like dust,
    its enchantment is upon you no more –
    The future glows in sight
    on the island of apples
    where you dwell feasting upon eternity
    and upon everything born out of a lavish ground.
    everything – corporeal and incorporeal gathers up
    and you find yourself among nymphs, dryads, witches,
    heroes, mad men of both virtues and vices,
    unearthly fruits and singing crystals,
    air and waters sprinkled with glitter,
    and a crystalline laughter travelling with the wind.

    Memories of snowdrops 

    The snowdrop-scented incense extinguishes
    It smells like childhood dreams
    It smells like us
    in a cornfield
    or in our garden
    laughing and uncaring
    just before I went on the hill
    with my kite
    laughing,
    uncaring.

    Carved 

    Red wine, dripping down your lily flesh
    like paper tingled by tears of blood
    from the wounds of your carved spirit.

    Pulse 

    You lay on the river shore
    Half awake and spellbound
    by the water flowing
    rhythmically,
    echoing the flow of blood,
    mirroring the flow of time.
    Illusions bewitch your mind and body into acting strangely-
    The past creeps up and there you are:
    Standing still in the infinite white space
    of children unborn.

    As below, so above 

    This place is a crypt and, while you’re all waiting
    to go on a long journey,
    you admire the countless tiles
    bearing the scars of the bodies in front of them-
    their motionless, diffuse shadows
    never making you wonder what they hide
    for, as you see their faces, you can tell
    you’re all made of the same substance
    and that’s all that seems to matter down there,
    on the Underground platform.
    No mystery in your flesh and bones,
    no light at the end of the tunnel,
    no heaven to dream of inside the collective tomb,
    you are in this together.

    Addiction 

    My shadow on your wall, crumbling
    as you wake up from the shivers
    entering you like poison-
    slowly, from your mouth
    passing through your stomach and
    limbs in silence,
    then back to the skull
    By the moon, my black hair
    is cast behind you,
    Your sickness now caught in my spider web.

    DM, 2014-2017

  • A poem: Wither

    I gather tokens of death
    in appearance fragile-
    with thorns hidden
    underneath.

    A hand reaches out…
    Blood lingers
    on thin skin.

    Petals burn,
    Smoke intoxicates:
    you breathe it in.

    Funeral words carved
    in marble skin-
    paralysed,
    you listen blindly
    as they inhale life.