When space is silence…

Words, sounds, and space…


The tempo of a thousand kisses

A thousand kisses said the song and it sounded black to me, absent of color, an emptiness containing love or passion. Absence where movement remains, somehow floating on that emptiness with a sound that makes it belong.

What movement? -you ask. The movement of closeness between two persons, lips sensually connecting with each other, kisses in ephemeral smoke … white … or red. Red with gray swirling into darkness at a larghissimo tempo, almost hypnotizing our senses.

Dark sounds evoking lovers.

A Sensual autumn midnight

lightless and timeless.

_____Adriana Citlali

Today’s theme is synesthesia. I wrote a haibun poem. The inspiration came from the fact that I started writing when my stereo played “A thousand kisses deep” by Leonard Cohen. Read other poets take on the theme at dVerse — Synesthesia.


Youth and forgiveness

A car drive — a long time ago. That feeling of death around me, of tears that do not want to leave my eyes, of emptiness. Numbness, youth, and a highway. A relationship died and I went for a ride. A relationship died because I called it off. I returned the ring, destroyed the dream. The stereo played the CDs that we adored. “Don’t you cry” came next. A tear slid down my cheek, followed by tears showcasing the sadness of hurting him, while hurting me. Don’t cry! — I insisted as if my voice would stop my emotions, my despair.     A young love ended and marked our separate destinies. I moved far away — a thousand kilometres north. We did not talk for three years, until that night. The night we both cried. Our paths had changed… He bought a red rose for me. We hugged while our tears blended into a single sorrow. We forgave each other, we forgave ourselves. We kissed good-bye and parted ways. I wished him well, he did the same. That is when I knew it was really over.     I smile when I remember the magic of our love and youth. I can almost cry when I remember that part at the end. The passion and the despair. The tenderness, the promise, the impulsiveness, the confusion, the separation, the broken fairy tale. An innocent love that now lives forever, immaculate, as in a dreamlike world in our memories. We do not talk anymore. There is no need — the innocence of the memory remains pristine. We did well. Perhaps the tears taught us something. Perhaps it was our destiny to be happy in each others absence.

Eternal innocence — late
spring memory of a tear
Forgiveness and two paths

_____Adriana Citlali

Haibun Monday: Tramps like us were born to survive… | dVerse

Today at dVerse, we are writing classic haibuns about singing along with music while driving. I haven’t been driving for a while, so I played some music (old favourites) and looked into my memory box. I found that first love story, that first closure. A past that makes me smile, a past that makes my heart remember bliss and ache as if they could blend into a single feeling.


Structured procrastination past midnight

Amelia feels stressed and distressed
  Too tired for productivity
  Too late for adventure
  Too busy for love
  Too early for bed

She looks at the pile of laundry
          –reminds her of one hundred unanswered emails
  Oh,  sweet procrastination!
Amelia runs the dishwasher and sweeps the floor
while adding items to a mental list
    Amelia remembers the big day with a personal deadline
Unclaimed thoughts disrupt her prioritisation attempt
tasks  deadlines  duties  hobbies  meetings  love  notes  reports  reviews  jazz  hopes  reminders  clocks
tik                          tok                     tik                tok           tik         tok      tiK   tIK TIK!

Amelia’s heart is up-tempo
          –her knees flutter like humming-bird wings
   She lies down       –right there    right then
            Amelia scrolls her options
  No time for therapy
  No reason to cry
  No energy to laugh
  No mood for exercise
  No peace for yoga
  No!  NO!

Amelia takes control!

She closes her eyes
takes  three  deep  breaths
                one                     two                     three
paces    her    heartbeat
relaxes  her  imagination

Sparkling butterflies spread a breeze of perfume
      [ Colorlight ]
Amelia’s face golden-glows under a blissful sun
      [ Ocean waves ]
He hugs her tenderly while kissing her lips

It’s ecstasy day at 2am and she dreams stories I want to live

Amelia floats on the liquid of love and calmness
She bathes in daydreams and forgives
       invents a story weaving strands of reality and dreams
Amelia experiences passion and an ethereal eternity

Reality will come back
Amelia will meet the deadline
          –with a pleasant smile and a fuelled heart
Laundry will be done and emails answered

Amelia rests in the fiction of imaginary realism
Chaos relaxes into ordered fractals

What’s the point of procrastination if love finds you tired?

_____Adriana Citlali


Amelia thanks joy — Amelia thanks depression

Amelia contemplated the layers of a day to be thankful.
Joy,      she thanked:

Today I thought of you            maybe
I longed the idea of you         certainly

I missed a smile that  once  made me believe in eternity
that messy hair and the way we laughed at jokes no one else understood
the intimacy
           the transparency we allowed in each others eyes

Today I thought of you            maybe
I thanked the idea of you         certainly

Amelia’s hands are cold. The clouds are low, the snow is wet.
Depression,      she thanked:

Today I longed a memory of you         but not the darkness
I missed the stereo                               not the eggshell carpet
neither the sadness nor the distance
      of those slow days when I felt scared
I don’t miss how the brightness in your irides dimmed
or how that foggy shadow covered it all          us all

Today I forgive the shadow         the fog and your pain
I thank the struggle                        though I can’t forget

In a world of contrasts, Amelia knows tears as an extension of laughter.
Amelia thanks depression.     Amelia thanks joy.

_____Adriana Citlali

Meeting The Bar: Thanksgiving Turkey with a side of Poetry | dVerse.


The end

Sometimes the sun is red       
    sometimes it is not       
Everything depends on the atmosphere       

I shout in silence to your absence       
You hide behind broken mirrors       

We have a blue environment       
         far   mountains through afternoon glasses       

I face thorny visions when I try to set eyes on you  


Don’t stare at me like that
I’ll cry if you do it

Come with me

There are no golden apples in the horizon
It’s noon at the end of a storm
There is time


Eternity                                                                                                   is gone
always has been

Only reflections with no words are left
flat images with memories of depth and a tacit conversation

We are burying the last sun tonight
No one seems to care
Fifty two moments of passion and no sacrifices for new light

_____Adriana Citlali

This is an old poem that I wrote back in 2004.
I reworked it today to participate in the Open Link Night 119 at dVerse.