Love sentiment that can never be apprehended, water that descends hillsides gets lost in remote places, seeps through the interstices of life lunges briskly through the body, neutralizes the soul, great unknown hides in the gaze, or launches, to break down barriers tear down walls. Love is silence, scream on
I have been asked, to take the poetry train to my country to the boundaries of my existence. Shout that it is enough, a protest something that raises the voice, against anything that cries injustice. Poverty, starvation, racism inequality, abuse. To raise our voice is to poke the inaction, of those who
In the sky a glimpse of blue -suspended-. The back is speckled by flashes of sun. On the bed a wonder of light splinters. In the air lingers a swinging note. It sails. Indolent slows down the mind, in partial thinking. A hypothesis is the matter and space in which I can float. I still
I haven’t died since the full moon you haven’t kill me 90 and 10 hours – plus a handful of minutes (I lost count of the seconds but I am still counting) there is a divine principle in trusting and surrendering to go beyond the corners of the self to offer world and
Today is a perfect day Read More »
The rain with its cosmic eyes Keeps knocking at the windowpane Trembling with each steps With all her secrets in every drop, one by one. The evening was waiting for the Magical rituals….like secret manuscripts For her readers. It was dark like prison cells. Waiting in a row for the final sentence. The room was
WAITING FOR THE LAST RITUEL Read More »
Through the windows hanging down From your eyelashes, dangling… North and south twisting east and west And opening up the whole universe… I am watching the greatest show on earth People are crazy enough to avoid you People are crazy enough to spoil your show People are crazy enough to forget you People are
Walking With Death Warrant Read More »
To Antonia Pozzi[1] Don’t ask for chrysanthemums now that you embrace the invisible; the roses fade the loneliness boredom is pierced by thorns. When the day is tinged with the night the countryside assists to the cruelest events. How many moths opacify the air while the brightest star suddenly grinds the teeth. I figure
Auscultate the time that precedes Read More »
To Federico García Lorca Not of the sharp thunderbolts the color but of dry fields, shiny gold washed out from the contempt of life now faded and deformed by boredom. Notof the mangled screams sound, roaring and impudent but of the scrap of the leaf of the cricket looking for mimesis. Not
Music is poetry An expression of the heart Music is a form of entertainment Music is a form of art Music is my life There is magic in the music Music can be loud Like thunder in the head Music makes me full of sorrow And makes me full of joy Music makes
We are roses in hands, in ropes of live, magic in nature, haunting the air the songs of winds. The word swings in tips of the moon… She, in her golden cradle above the sky; sneaks out of the snow dressing the night with her verses. Pilgrim, companion of paths and its
