Melting Colors



  MELTING COLORS

  By Vangjel Canga

  Copyright 2013-2017 Vangjel Canga

  Front cover image:

  “Untitled”

  Copyright Vangjel Canga

  Contact:

  [email protected]

  https://elheartista.blogspot.com/

  https://twitter.com/elheartista

  About this book:

  Selected poems from the author's books:

  “The Visual Non Visuals”, “Passenger Illusions”, “Modern Poetry” and “The Bouquet of Poems”

  (Available as print and ebook versions.)

  as well as some other poems.

  Also a story from “The Word and the Interpretation”

  a collection of short stories and 'thoughts'

  For more info about the other (poetry) books:

  https://www.facebook.com/TheVisualNonVisuals

  https://www.facebook.com/PassengerIllusions

  https://www.facebook.com/PoeziModerne

  https://www.facebook.com/TheBouquetOfPoems/

  Contents

  Poems:

  Names in time

  Engraved in the silence

  Coins of time

  Shoe romanticism

  The Visual Non-Visuals

  Colorful musical eyes

  As the sunflower

  I gave my hand

  The slavery of men

  Unemployed Week

  Modern Poetry

  Flower demining

  Commander and winner

  The Market of Earthenware

  The Return

  The Bouquet of Poems

  The Floral Motif

  Short Poems

  Stories:

  Isn't it absurd

  Thoughts

  About the author

  About this book

  Update History

  Names in time

  I tried to form your name

  By combining the sound of cicadas

  And those of grasshoppers during summer

  But the effort jumped outside of the thorns

  And got stuck in a tree

  I had forgotten

  That once I had recorded your name

  In the creases of the trunk

  But the wind reminded me of it while playing

  The gramophone that I hadn't noticed

  The quality had degraded during the years

  Influenced by the noise of the leaves

  The essence, though, had remained the same

  As then, when for the first time

  you told me your name

  I saw you one day - you were looking for my name

  so I decided to come

  and write it here

  Engraved in the silence

  A drop fell on a piece of white cardboard

  Then evaporated - and the cardboard remained white

  Was it a tear drop - leaving behind the saltness?

  Was it a drop of perfume - leaving behind its fragrance?

  Or maybe in a hot desert where it hadn't rained for a year

  It brought a taste of freshness?

  Still a memory remained

  Even though the poet's words

  Were not written with ink

  For sometimes the silence is engraved in the light

  And sometimes the words are engraved in that silence

  Coins of time

  Filling the baskets with coins made of reed

  I pay for the game with the water of the flowing river

  Fish with astonished open eyes do not understand

  That I am fishing the leaves of the trees

  The trees or their shadow is the big clock hand?

  Is the sun an electronic clock or not?

  The marks for hours and minutes are missing -

  For every second another leaf in the water

  On the mosaic clock of yellow and red leaves

  The hands are stuck in the middle of an empty basket

  The wind will blow and take all the leaves away

  For every second a coin made of reed

  Shoe romanticism

  Seven knocks on a boot

  Opened the door of a lace

  "Leave a little space there for me!"

  Frozen over the engravings on the shoe

  The crystals saw the snow fall

  Over the warmth of a sock

  The embroidery on it gave the hand to the engravings

  So that they could stay together (covered with laces)

  In the morning after a winter night...

  The Visual Non-Visuals

  I will close my eyes to see the non-visuals

  And hide with open eyes to confuse those who can see

  I will write with paper on a piece of ink

  Which the rain will take and write into the clouds

  I will close the clouds into another window

  I will open the window on another cloud

  See the sky through it, let the sun shine through

  Close the eyes to the visuals, but not the visuals to eyes

  Colorful musical eyes

  "Good morning"

  I said to the musical eyes

  But they looked towards some other place

  And I didn't hear their music

  In this little crowded place of rhythms

  Notes play in colored eyes

  Going wherever their interest is

  But I didn't see their color

  My eyes looked through colored interests

  The same things as everybody -

  "Good morning" the music said to me

  And I looked at it with colored eyes

  As the sunflower

  If you'd cut the petals of the sunflower

  That you have put on the table in your office

  Would the distance that they would form

  Be as much as the distance of a few meters

  Between us, when we get out of the station

  Or as much as the distance between the train cars

  (we never enter into the same one)

  Or as much as the distance between our offices?

  When outside it's cloudy and it's raining

  Do your sun-colored hair

  Make the sunflower

  Turn towards you?