Seven days in Frankfurt

Upon the Eiserner stag’ that stood a deep river;

So stood an appealing, on the edge, beauty so severe;  

When the eyes fling out to the skyscrapers afar;

To the bridge, a signature of love and pride’ once pushed aside,

The colorful locks, that now possess a quiver of hearts,

 Where the arrows that would cross , with care and joy reside.

The chilly nights yet the avenue’s tempting candy ice-cream;

The forest with tiny endearing houses, like picked from a dream;

Roads that leads to the face in the wall, where schöne damen visits;

 Where heavy canopy of clouds float, just above the head,

Black and blue it looks, but takes away the same.

Days that gave smiles or times that you were hurt,

 But then the downpour never fails, when it rains in Frankfurt!

 With a last glimpse to the place, so vigorous and hospitable;

Long days and, short night, but red wine and evening cable;

With a blink of an eye, a story, forever to blurt.

Tschuss with a tremor she whispered to herself ,

Looking on her rear mirror, “ Danke shoen tschüss Frankfurt.

The girl with the Red hair

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RED

Red and some black
Do you believe it to be true when they convince us to believe light at the end of the tunnel? Like they made us believe of gems at the end of rainbow.
When her eyes would meet mine, i am sure i would feel my universe stop for a second, putting up every energy focusing upon the gentleness that would fly through her.
Will it be comprehensible? I was a stranger for sure. But not to those smile no. Not to those swift curls that digs deep and so sullen to even challenge the calmness of Orpheus. Would i do more than Orpheus? Or is it all illusions and delusions?
Like thousands stories are hidden in those blinks and moves.
Is she the mermaid of the mind or fairy of the hearts? Or both?
Or am I just being a fool?
Red and some black

THE PACEMAKER

To, the Pacemaker of the heart;

I honestly am asking to myself why would anything have such a value? How can a person be pitch perfecto in all the manners one perceive and how can the glaringly sweetness be handled upon those reluctant emotions?

And its always just splendid to see you being modest about yourself, of all the gentleness and desires that your mind possess among the prejudices of it being solemnly static.

Dear butterscotch, just don’t ask me to stop, for it will never be enough and accurate to try explain how virtuous you are.

You prove me wrong everyday. You prove me wrong when you just say “haina testo” and its just adorable how you do the passive defense when I object.

 I honestly used to imagine “angel falls to be the most resplendent for anyone to wonder, but the hair that floats over your shoulder giving contrast to those hidden smiles on those supple cheeks is the only measure of elegance i can ever dream!

To the pacemaker of the heart, i am sending these words; through every small cute ways, the smiles will be coming, through every gentle surprises, happiness would be there, and through every little try, Joy will be there.

A prayer from within wunderschön;

Is it the whole cumulative of her personality that reflects on those seemingly semi conscious notions of her, or just the smiles carved out over the fairy cheeks with speckle of nevus? Was it the whole of her winks to the shy of her smile? Or just the thought of the immense knowledge she possess sets her pretty to describe a wunderschön. I am blind for how, just the picture of a Meisterwerk is all that i get glimpses of without the reprehensible idea of me to try praise what its for,

 Days that spent on yearning about the mystery, the exaltation that hides beneath the calm and confident smile of hers.

 “dieses Lächeln, as I would say, that smile that went only so right by the checks or stripes on her gown, and when it was jeans , the cocktails on her hand were jealous of the kind of blend her smile added to. I havent seen an image of Helen of troy, yet the image that you portray takes the breath of every reader that would not be able to withstand the radiance that comes upon just the reality of her sincere prettiness.

So was this the wunderschon, with the appealing curls that rests upon those shoulder, as the responsibility that she carries rests firmly upon her conscious. And with the rightest of the attitude she paints on her self, so soft yet cool her nature beholds, like a fleck of snow, which disappears on the hand, only to feel the chills it left, before you finish up to rejoice the moment.

And the hot chocolate.

 When she was looking out to the lake besides the woods, her eyes; floating away along with the soft undulating ripples of the water, she wanders to the beauty thats infront. And the thoughts that fly from the wunderschon, as see sips her hot chocolate; a decent expression of herself, dancing like the flowers on her shirt, it colds and silences the ripples on the lake, created from the questions from her thoughts that float along. Yet she gets to keep it warm and nice, just like the hot chocolate that lay infront.

 Ja, she was the wunderschon, with the fancy goggles that hides the modest of the eyes, or the rare headband she holds as her signature, when she stood, the right of the universe would go off; Sun would be crying due jealousy of the radiations that you display and the moon would just be shy; for there was another who was shining royally down on and to earth. With the overwhelming meltdown and the power she has, to have the world on her hands, and as she does slowly, she hears a prayer that goes on her name, which; itself a sweetness.

‘Wunderschon’ it was heard, from all the edges of the world, to the girl who had it all, from obvious coolness like a snow on the hands to the hidden fiery on her eyes.

the poor wanderer

Shall I start with the eyes, its always so confusing when its only so much about the prettiness yet they make it look so easy. Just like they are, sullen and so piercing when you look at them, you just know the whole story that would go beyond.

Yes the eyes. It has always been them. Those searching and wandering eyes, be only in the pictures of hers at first, they be like watching straight to you, like eager to see what happens next, wanting to express the untold stories of the silenced heroine that she is. Her eyes are pretty as prettiness can ever be.

They have always so much to say if you know the proper language they speak, those eyes that had seen of the days that were nice, when she would lay on her princess bed, going through how her days were, and the things that had made her smile, and of the things that made her weary. And the eyes, would reflect at same time, a mixture and perfect blend of emotions, naice and cheerless, like sweetest cream over a bitter cup of espresso. But we all love espresso. And I love her eyes, as much as I would want to.

She knows. Its only so obvious that all the things I would want to say, she might have been told, by the mirrors and the rivers, only failing to reflect the real radiations that glows through her. She is a calamity to hearts of the ones who meander.

When I am intending to portray her image from inside out, I feel it will always be so curtailed and undermining, yet its always so much naice to have someone you could actually write to, for and about.  The turns her mandible makes to compose her jaw line, damn she is Helen of troy, only without the sad ending.

 Her slender neckline that gives her the striking exquisiteness, so very much reminds of the fjord in the north, leading to the splendor of the torso that she endows. Every fingerbreadth upon her frame gives palpitations hurting upto the cingulate gyrus.

And the supple lips of hers that shapes the indisputable smiles are always less to be praised with words. Only by the honest act of tenderness would it be able to justify the gigantic supremacy of the sweetness her lustrous lips bear.

To wrap her up into a page of words is always as undermining but like we do not need a torch to see the sun, she doesn’t require words shaped in leisure to explain the grandeur she has, both in the looks and more in the feels her heart desires.