30.08.2014

Nonsense Rhyme

I've lived in tune with my nature,
I've nurtured the virtue of fervor,
The tireless rehearsal of a circle.
My torture is to preserve the purpose
And nourish the cherished murmur. 

Self- Exiled

If I could reincarnate one day
I would be a starfish;
A central disc with only five arms,
on an ocean bed, alone,  
a  real-life anchor of stability
implausible to take away
impossible to send back
to a prior existence above the surface
of a hospitable and soothing sea blaze.

If I could build myself from scratch
I would be a lighthouse.
Fighting against the nocturnal persistence
opressing the waves,
there will be no more panic or desire to evade
and have their blind enthusiasm crashed
into the same sharp shores,
their young despair- banished then split
immortalizing a sadistic torture,
an almost Sisyphean-like defeat.

In any case, 
I would wait for you halfway
between these ancient species and towers,
In an inviting natural habitat
Over the top of my cruelest hours,
A long  way from any fatal abduction,
Perfectly sheltered against a savage retreat.
I would be waiting to meet you there,
Whatever you were meant to be.

29.08.2014

Solar Refrain

A heavy  hold on the  four seasons,
The summer solstice happens twice a year!
Considering the ups and downs
of these solitary, radiant whereabouts,
And  all  the cosmic encounters 
with twinkling stars, 
the lonesome planets 
and  their natural satellites,
What if the sun could write you poetry?
I bet it would not leave the drawer
For fear it might distress your dazzling eyes.


Duplicity

You can never see wolves
walking around in sheep’s clothing,
It's just an expression, nothing real per se,
but a crocodile’s weeping will lure a prey-
so ingenuous and naïve - that being devoured
is just nature’s way of correcting the weak
without any emotion to drain.
That is why I keep saying
the City of Troy was not conquered
through infiltration or deceit;
The Trojan Horse teaches nothing
about the Greeks, but does embody
quite everything  there is to know
about a gift.

28.08.2014

An Ars Poetica

Looking back 
gives one the right 
to remorse,
but to move on 
you need more than metaphors.
Both friendship and hope 
are reasons for smiling,
A life of togetherness 
will wipe out the crying.

Ironically Enough...

We all leave something behind
Before we answer the final summons;
Shakespeare invented the word “lonely”
Which has been quoted and unquoted
By- literally -everyone ever since
his "Coriolanus".
Later on, Nobel invented dynamite
Which, to atone for the fatal wrong,
Inspired  a  posthumous peace prize
to reward the best fighters against wars.
We all leave something  behind
That’s the unwritten promise to just up and die.

Blind Justice

My plan was to wait a few years
With my eyes closed
until memories converted themselves
into fine anecdotes;
Then let the swarm of emotional turmoils
and half-accidental snapshots
be seduced  by  impulsive oblivion;
Sooner than later they will all be absorbed
and hopefully able to smile 
backwards
in front of a Venetian mirror.
Living through more winters than summers
should be a fact, not a dividing ordeal,
or an agonizing act of greed 
to fall prey to 
or to obsessively re-play at night.
In the loud, bright wilderness,
a planted seed finds its fertile rest, 
Nonetheless, it grows its own firm roots
underground, in the dark silence.
Light never gives us the right
to receive any real answers,
So tell me, 
what are the odds to even the horizons?

27.08.2014

Devolution

To confess to the sand hidden inside the hills
you ought to tame the grape vineyard;
Though neither night lightning, 
nor roaring thunders will help 
unless you bless their dormant roots
with small overdoses 
of silence.
"Abracadabra!"- a handful of darkness 
is secretly passed down
from one falling star to another,
wishing you, too, would become 
two tangent celestial bodies,
in the eyes of the stargazing clusters,
bitten by a contagious, sorcery bug, 
able to dry-clean all the tearstained, 
too-sentimental portraits of our youth,
brutally separated then fast-expelled
to unknown galaxies
covered in ancient grimes graves.
Spotlessly cleaned of any regret,
we are all heading towards a bridge,
one river-crossed continent
at a time,
Heart-aching with every last breath
Too eager to live a noble life,
We will die an estranged death.

26.08.2014

Crystal-Clear Warnings

... 
don’t you
turn your back
to the old willow trees
weeping down in courtesy
along the lone river banks
at sunset and 
don’t dare to look
over those young shoulders
whenever you need to recount
your insecure steps,
their free falling
or revisit the green high lands
you've been taking for granted so long.
We all learn that snowdrops in spring
whisper more about weddings than
pyramids
or towers
ever will .

25.08.2014

Old-School Creed

She believed
in returning to innocence,
in walking together hand-in-hand,
in expecting the unexpected
and the smooth run of musical notes.
She believed,
Come rain or shine,
poets could use the same words
and painters - the same colors-
On the same cloud nine.
She believed
in sharing everything,
in solemnly taking moon-descending vows,
in the pen being mightier than the sword,
in carrying  the sins of the past
and borrowing the virtues of tomorrow
inside a border-free world.
She believed love had no meaning
Until your soulmate was born.

24.08.2014

Closure

In all my born days,
the same instinctive, almost compelling urge
tucks in the childhood dreams of  love
in a pine bed.
Joining up a mystery cult
has never made my life list
Instead, growning up, 
the persistence of my resolutions,
has subdued  their obstinate constancy
to the heart-pounding  thrills
set to inflame the final hours
of a formal wake.
Some canyons inspire second-guessing,
Zip-lining is thought  too  extreme
with gravity on our side,
some of us cannot have a long stay,
either scanning or skimming  through life,
we change  the colours which portray  our becoming
beginning to end.
Deductions may be speechless or not,
But headlines of  big  breaks
and  unlucky strikes,
are no breaking  news, they only prove
the cronyism of fate. Still  barefooted,
There’s hardly any warming  for your trail,
with no affordable aid to deny it,
My voice is the only echo coming back.