I scream
at the sunset
my name
to shudder
at the rumble
of my voice.
I laugh
at my life game
walking
on my ashes.
I scream
at the sunset
my name
to shudder
at the rumble
of my voice.
I laugh
at my life game
walking
on my ashes.
Made up with clouds
the sky
throws open a water coloured sun
on the horizon
and an ode of joy
pour from heart.
The day again starts
hoping to live
on the blaze of coloured buds
and I
look at my eyeshadow palette
to fix Nature
on the time’s breaths.
Cold ocean
of famous beaches
flied over
by analytical seagulls:
I listen
the wind hiss
around my hair
letting
my soul
go out of me
to reach
its horizon
crowded
of solitaries.
And then all is ended.
Silence lowers from the terraces,
granny listens no more screams
and is left alone,
in the middle of the empty green,
and of memories;
glory escapes from eyes,
enthusiasm is hauled down with the flags,
crumpled papers burn in the fireplace,
make champions and victories useless.
You continue to be
and still try to live
and love the fresh air
that frees fantasies
and you breath the time
that, unpretentions, makes you a champion.
Little pearls
threaded
in the mad cobweb
of the unexpressed things.
Alone,
she looks to the bars
commiserating the absents.
If I had to choose
to be a toy
I would be
a doll.
The one I never saw
in the faces of mine.
I’ll come in the fog
to darken your eyes
injuring your pride
crumpling up your passions;
I’ll come
to steal your heart
and shut it
in my mind cruel of love;
I’ll come in the sun
to tighten a smile
opening a neverending view
on your soul;
I’ll come in the time
I look over
down and up
a wake of floors.
Windows
perched
at an angle
on a dark river,
tormented by envy
for not being
opened in the sky.
A cappuccino
strip foam
ruffles a cloud
unable to lick it.
Will you warm up
also my icy depth
of my unconscious plans?
Bronzing with hues
the slow walk
of my deep meditations?
We are alone,
you and me, sun,
with nothing between us
than my castles in the air.
I’m not able
to invent
complicated lines.
The Ego graft
on the pen
has an handicap
stronger than will.
Maybe I pretend
to resemble myself;
maybe simplicity
is an old family friend.