DIANA MARIN

Tag: poetry

  • Act of Worship

    We are here hunting haunting paradigm shifts
    while our exquisitely glistening unreality spills
    softly into the night in a secret shrine somewhere;
    seraphic dreams (holy, profane, & tender) merge
    yet meanings are not alike, they have multitudes,
    nuances, that are tied to dreams, tastes, & neuroses
    even when we strive for transparency,
    while we cling to a fairy‑tale sense of identity
    amid turbulent scenes, a delicate, fleeting glance
    reveals a much needed allegory of sweetness, of
    shadows redecorated by light beams, strategically.
    I’d like to fathom you as more than a projected inner ghost or
    an angel-minded muse or a presence enclosed
    in a cage of their own making or a synthesised archetype,
    I know you are real, but at times, for my own sake, I forget.

  • Gratitude Journal Entry No 2

    I’m grateful I’ve come to a stage in my life journey where I am far from being consumed by other people’s paths. Instead, I remain focused on my own alignment, recognising that what works for one person may not resonate with another – and that’s perfectly okay. I’ve gained clarity and serenity as a result of this discernment, which has also taught me to value my unique journey while honouring others’.

    I like to believe that the universe ultimately has my back, as it guides me toward what aligns with my highest good (sometimes gently, other times not so much). The main purpose of some experiences is to redirect me towards opportunities I might not have otherwise seen. For instance, if I happen to be around people who are not a vibrational match for me, that should not discourage me; instead, it should make me realise what my needs and wishes are so that I direct my energy towards people who are right for me. In this context, I’m grateful that my instinct for self-preservation often acts as a social compass. Trusting this process brings me a profound sense of comfort and reinforces my belief in the beauty of life’s unfolding.

    In this reflective moment, I extend my gratitude to all living beings – animals, plants, the elements, and the earth itself – that sustain and enrich my life. I honour the care and labour of the generations before me and the blessings of health, safety, and community that I am privileged to enjoy for these gifts, both tangible and intangible, represent reminders of the interconnectedness of all life.

    The everyday blessings such as the cozy embrace of a warm blanket, the shelter of home, the nourishment of simple and fancy food, and the honesty of genuine connections – these are the basis of a fulfilling life. As time passes, I’ve come to value these seemingly ordinary experiences for the extraordinary joy and comfort they provide.

    Gratitude transforms our perspective on life itself, enabling us to find joy in the simplest things such as the breath in our lungs or the resilience of our own hearts. Even amidst challenges, gratitude has the power to lighten burdens and allow moments of joy to shine through the darkness.

    And so, I close this entry with gratitude for life in all its complexity. Life is not without its struggles, but it’s filled with opportunities for growth, beauty, and connection. May this gratitude continue to guide me – and anyone reading – towards joy, courage, and love.

  • Her

    in her soul-healing era
    she is
    a magnetic muse
    her aura
    (mystical and rare)
    breathes in
    the soft spell of becoming–

    she moves through dimensions,
    vibrating at a
    dream-born
    frequency where the
    cosmic
    folds into her hands,
    pure-hearted (she loses no one,
    they lose her; their hands cannot
    hold the sky)

    her dreams are fragments of soul medicine;
    her whispers no longer embody
    the ache of the ephemeral.

  • Angels

    We will survive
    in spite of everything
    by birthing ourselves
    as many times as we need.
    We are the women who dare
    to dream and create
    in spite of the eyes
    of an empty world
    We are the snow angels
    flying away before
    they can clip our wings.
    Lustrous,
    our transmutations,
    our rich inner lives,
    our unbreakable spirit.
    We shall create our own meanings
    we shall write our own narratives
    we will find our voices again
    after the countless attempts of others
    to reduce us to silence.

  • Ice princess

    She walks barefoot through a haunting dreamscape,
    tear-stained by echoes of forgotten prayers.
    A snow princess with a gown of starlight
    and a crown of insight, glowing, nocturnal.
    From her heart, something crystalline, ancient,
    emerging–
    whispering secrets of lives half-remembered
    etching memories into the ether of her soul.
    She rises, as if part of a song,
    as if she is both the seeker and the found,
    the dreamer and the dream,
    a solitary note in a phantasmagorical harmony.
    The wind speaks in tongues she seems to understand,
    while she pierces through it as she crosses
    bridges she created above chasms
    within the labyrinth of being
    she reclaims words and concepts
    piece by piece, entering the puzzle of her nature.

  • Dreamscape

    A labyrinth of quiet alleys

    where you absorb moments that feel
    like they belong to no one,
    and yet to everyone who’s ever been here.

    The scent of the sea clings to the air,
    mixing with coffee, incense,
    and the distant laughter of strangers.

    Here, serendipity is a way of being.

    A church,
    its walls reverberating with Vivaldi’s notes,
    a heartbeat from centuries past

    filling the air with something
    that feels like longing,
    or maybe just peace.

    You wander
    and the city shifts around you,
    showing you its secrets,
    its ethereal beauty that you only notice
    when you’re not looking.

    A flash of sunlight on a canal,
    a reflection that disappears as soon as you see it,
    a city that holds you,
    then lets you go
    while you carry a piece of it in your thoughts.

  • Enchantment

    A girl, woven from stardust and daydreams
    whispers in the wind, moonlight-drenched,
    a constellation stitched into her skin,
    pulsing to the rhythm of celestial secrets.
    Starlit revelation, a gift draped in nebulae,
    her name an incantation, floating between realms,
    a spectre of enchantment

    in sync with the harmony of the universe.

  • Divergence

    It was at that precise moment that I felt
    we were suffering from the same affliction
    yet we were worlds apart,
    trying to find different cures.
    We were looking at the same thing
    but seeing something different,
    lost in our own perspectives
    shaped by specific flavours of pain.

  • The Force

    You don’t know me if you have no clue
    what it’s like
    to feel like a ticking bomb,
    to have a latent force within you,
    ready to devour you at any moment.

  • A Glance

    Caught in between worlds and narratives designed
    from mercurial substances laced with unfathomable fears,
    no longer bothering to convey their intersections
    in a way that integrates with the normal brooding whole,
    still skipping diseased words that hold too much power,
    in hope of discouraging the old forces from slipping in
    like a cataclysmic surge disturbing the ebb and flow of being,
    and because I have a history, yet I don’t like inhibitions
    that render the core watered-down with lifeless inscriptions.
    Anyway, the morning found me sipping the lingering trance of
    dewy dreams of an all too familiar setting, concealed for years,
    interwoven with unfettered thoughts fluttering like harpies
    and kind ravens towards, above, and beyond worlds.
    Later, I consumed a piece of media that bothered me,
    tapping into a growing discomfort at every variation of evil,
    but there’s always a quick fix for that, and I know myself –
    fortunately I can un-see, un-hear such things – a talent of mine,
    born out of necessity, of self-preservation;
    well, it’s because sometimes images used to get stuck
    and replayed over and over again,
    but that’s classified information I don’t want to unlock;
    if nothing else, similar instances are usually eclipsed
    by the life-devouring shadows
    of much more significant worries-
    this is why I don’t mind dwelling on the edge of chaos
    as long as I find my definition of peace in it:
    every new element propels me further, making sure
    I don’t get sucked into the vortex of one.
    Listen, it’s tiring to be driven by the many-eyed wings
    that pierce through subtleties and silvery surfaces,
    to spot pattern discrepancies as easily as one blinks,
    whilst the narrative blossoms like a beautiful acacia tree,
    but this was not an invitation.
    In fact, sometimes, my desires are very simple-
    it should be obvious by now, and
    whether I’m fine or not is irrelevant-
    I want faith, freedom, and to be left to exist
    between the tree and the river.