Maie Bauza

Maie Bauza Poems

Maie Bauza Biography

I haven't published anything I got paid for. I just love writing. I stopped for some time and I am starting it all again. I don't have an actual biography. This is something I wrote a few days back - about me. I like the lost feeling. For all my constant need for control, I would often be hit by a sudden desire to - just be. Still, unmoving or bouncing wherever, hitting absolutely nothing, a tumultous energy with no absolute direction. I am a person who inherently lacks balance and continuously searches and aims for it. I am someone with both the ability to write and word all sorts of feeling plaguing me with a desperate need to make it hurt some more, or make me feel euphoria some more. I write to make things just seem a little bit more. And I am also someone who would instantanously block every single feeling thought or notion and be accurately analytical and logical. In me lives two opposing nature that I have, time and time again, struggled to balance. I often try in vain to not be in extremities. it is all I know. It is all I ever can be. - and I am far from being the only one.)

The Best Poem Of Maie Bauza

Death Of A Dream

This night; cold, shining, resonant...
when times as such brings back old dreams.
Dreams neither words could please nor harm
such night when memories are none but clear.

As in my hand, I hold happiness
Such moment bring sudden incompleteness
At a time when, once, a dream hastily came
of which all passions and emotions, then held, are
untamed

At such nights, I held onto the memories...to the
dream
Its coldness as if an answer to vivid triviality
As my soul, half-filled, lost to eternity
Rhythms would sound nostalgic...to melancholy

This night; poignant, resolute, dense...
the dream came back sudden and unworded
and the years of yearning, longing and wonder
now defined with one word, hardly an utter

The dream once filling me with incompleteness
now is distant, unknown, unheld
For what had once been of light and vibrance,
now dimmed and lost of feigned existence

And in my hands, the dream had slipped
when I should have saved such, I did not care
for such dream brings no more but apathy
dead of meaning, though still shining, was no longer
there

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