Poems by Mihaela Tudor
Fantasy
Return thy hand from going far…
Wished to run;
Sounds snorkel in the Neverland
Bang! The desert cut through the door,
“It's not a giving life party, you hear me?
The ones who come here are sold… ”
Wished to run; his hand was far;
Sounds alighting flashes in my mind;
Lights out; none, just scented air,
When door opens, next,
This will be an Indian shrine;
This blended silence with the smell of hair
Damp on his chest,
This hidden interface of the divine,
Where have you been?
This flowing tremor of memories that never sleep
Sipping with me uneven cups
of fantasy…paid for everything.
Wished to run…barefooted,
His hand was too far;
Where have you been?
Flashes,
Dashing sands on the wall,
“You're sold….”
Scented hair,
Damp on his chest,
One night, here,
in the desert…no one…gone,
Jailed as an expat.
The Travelers
We used to walk together,
There were empty rounds within secluded hearts,
It was like building bridges made of fire
between nameless shapes.
We used to call the night a traveler
And play hide-and-seek among worlds
So far sometimes as he could get,
Estranged in wanderings while arms held closer
His scent,
his laughter.
He made a boat of a palm tree leaf
To carry me into his morrow,
Eyes closed at dreams,
Dispersed harmonies through endless hours,
“But what if it rains?” ” We'll hide under the rainbow.”
We used to walk together,
There were secluded rounds within atomic hearts
One to another,
In hide-and-seek and worlds
That used to carry us
into the morrow.
Mihaela Tudor is from Romania, but currently she works as an English
lecturer at the University of Hail in Saudi Arabia. She previously
published flash fiction The Rhapsody of Thoughts, November, 2010 (www.orionheadless.com) and Les
Reveries d' un Promeneur Plus Solitaire, Spring 2011, with The Battered
Suitcase (www.vagabondagepress.com).
Many other poems have been published with other journals including The
Faircloth Review (April, 2013). There is also forthcoming work appearing soon
in Word Riot.
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