Journal pages, Poetry and Prose  

[English] Volume: The Seconds of Teardrops Raining Tears Blue shreds of butterfly wings Caught in my life's storm Fall like a rain of painful thoughts On my ablazing soul. And when I feel them burning On my eyelids one by one, It's you that I remember And your face, so sad, appears in my mind. In the sky, from the buds of the night Stars bloom trembling And fill with a light perfume Our beating hearts. And if you go afar With the wide world in your thought, I'll stay back her

[English] YELLOW This tea reminds me of the one I used to drink, slowly sipping from my favourite cup. I remember the tea set, coated in silver, and my little fine cup, that had stamped on the bottom the Bavarian logo. I remember that steaming tea, orange in colour, on top of which a slice of lemon would float. I would take the cup to my lips, and slowly touch its edge, blowing gently, savouring the sweet drink. The lemon would touch my lips, and I could feel its sour but inv

[English] Volume: The Seconds of Teardrops The Seconds Hurt Me The seconds of your tears hurt me, Hurt me deep. On shards of heavy words I run barefooted, Trying to grasp you. The seconds of the passing moments hurt me, Hurt me profound. Your perfume, lost in the distance; And your silent steps are crushing My emptied soul. The seconds of your silence hurt me, Hurt me too late. I could have stopped from running But I have left, and now My soul is barren. © 2017 Carmen Silva [

[English] BACOVIAN* SEASONS I was sitting alone in a corner, waiting. The lamp lit the room. It was cold, and she wasn’t coming. The branches of a tree were hitting the window, and the wind was pulling petal by petal the flowers still so young. I could see them touching the glass, and lingering a little, then sliding back into the night. And so, my spring passed, and she never arrived. Summer descended then. A long summer of waiting. And it was getting colder, and colder… One

[English] THEN We made love that night, the two of us, on those black sheets. I could not tell which was the carpet, the bed or the walls… the entire room whose shape I still do not know, was dressed in black sheets. Soft, silky. The candles were throwing orange flares over our obsessive-spiritual love. After a while the colour of the sheets changed. It was blue. A saturated blue, on which the candles burned red. Our love was carnal. I would have liked to tear you apart, but