on a rainy Sunday at the flea market

constructive criticism always welcome

Rough fingers scroll down the creased paper,
a tremble moves them or a wind?
or a heart, a mourning violin,
that shivers over unveiled print.
a tremble moves them or a wind.
I say, a white cold wing instead of hand
touches the picture trembling
and two black holes instead of eyes
see the image craving-
dark rubies in a moonless night.
I say, he half-smiles
and his fingers whisper
like branches of a tree,
and I say,
his soul is a string of dark sound
 drowned
in the photograph
where in the middle
stands
she.

and I say, the lack of words

is a scripture,

and wind is trapped

in the trees

and the branches

of rough hearts

and fingers.
I say, he never knew her
and bought her picture
on a rainy Sunday
at the flea market.

Reviews

[M Breen]

The concept seems unusual at first, almost arrogant, but it's not and it penetrates to a left sided truth. Where I live many streets host at least one flea market per year. I was shocked to see residents selling the most personal stuff. I always wondered who would buy it.
A very insightful and aesthetic poem.

One little thing, there seems to be a lack of consistency in the capitalisations of the first words of the lines.

[Marri]

Thank you very much! Capitalisations were corrected as well :)

[Circe]

upon first reading I didn't expect it to end like that, right there, I was just so deliciously caught in the story, in the words unfolding... and it took me by surprise... now I love how you ended though, with the reader wanting more, but quite satisfied in the whole event. this tugged at my heart strings particularly in the language used.. a tremble or a wind, it's like either an emotional reaction or something imagined and changeable? your imagery is so captivating... the black holes instead of eyes... burning into an abyss... the scene morphs to fit the mood, the wind is trapped in the trees... quite a devastating portrait.. a free thing caught so bluntly... but he didn't even know her, and he now keeps her like a locked away soul... this is how it feels.... it has a surrealist, vintage quality, every image is like an emotional membrane.. and it's almost scary to scrape at them.... you are a such a true artist.

[Marri]

as always you warm up my day! I was also quite surprised when they told me that there are people who go to flea markets and buy old photos of people they never met...and the next day, quite accidently, there was a guy at the tram, who was looking at an old photo, maybe his, maybe bought at the flea market, I will never know, but it was enough for my conscious river to rise up and form a bridge of violent waves...So, this is what it is. A few details and my heart's mood. Thank you

[Circe]

well that is a very strange practice indeed (never heard of it either)! I'm glad you had the inspiration to explore that as it turned out so brilliantly... you added depths to it that would be inconceivable otherwise.... thank you for this!!

[Marri]

I had inspiration enough to keep me all night wondering. Who goes to a flea market and buys photos of strangers. My curiosity is a storm trapped in a small body. Somebody without a family? Somebody who appreciates photography? Somebody like me who is in love with stories? It is a detail to a full-coloured character....

[Circe]

haha that's why Marri you are an artist your mind is preoccupied with the story already forming, visiting all possibilities and angles, especially in search for the disturbances that we don't even understand, that exist below the consciousness

[Marri]

'disturbances that we don't even understand' oh, I like that. It makes me think of the land under someone's feet. It is rough and goes up and down, with arteries that others have walked into, history's veins...and underneath the cover of soft green, you can feel the hard(ship) of the landscape...

[Circe]

yes.. that is a beautiful analogy... we would only graze the primary layers of its history..... the rest is just deeply mysterious.... the past is really as unknown as the future.. I wonder about their convergence.. if that's even possible.

[Marri]

The year my mother gave birth to my sister, she lost her father. I could say she is that connecting point between her past and her future, but that would be cherry-picking with abstracts. The truth is that convergence is never possible, as everything in life moves, forward, I guess. But better 'deeply mysterious' than 'unveiled and understood, but boring and shallow'

[Circe]

oh wow... that would have been quite some emotional turmoil for your mother to go through. I have heard that when there is a death in the family there is also life... it happened when my grandfather passed and my uncle's daughter was born shortly after... maybe it is somewhat true. you're right... I wouldn't want everything unveiled... much happier to live with impressions than absolutes

[Marri]

'much happier to live with impressions than absolutes' you say it all!