Enveloped in a white aura
she resists his love,
her hair didn’t glide through his fingers,
her lips didn’t taste his kiss,
so close they were far away,
waiting, like lightning about to strike the ground
someone would die if contact was made.
Enveloped in the white of an aura
she resists his words
full of emptiness,
his eyes and the desire
that resound in her thoughts,
destabilizing, like a fright,
vertigo of fading life
that creates a vortex
in which she does not let herself fall in.
And balancing on a thread of wool,
her legs crossed, her hands in Mudra,
she remains enveloped in a white aura,
avoiding moments of mere surrenders.
And then we undress,
like autumn trees,
to redress with the same leaves
we once let fall,
we patch up on,
waiting for an icy wind
while covering the branches with snow.
Arms towards the sky
from which buds blossom
to nurture the heart
and pulses, breaths of life,
dreams, new words.
You run, stop to breathe,
run again, stop and pray.
The paths get crowded with fake smiles
arms that hold you close,
eyes that gaze inside you,
and kisses on your heart.
While the growing avalanche
passes you by,
rings of sun hidden behind white clouds
and nights of stars,
hands gliding on a body, shield,
prison that frees the soul.
And dreams fly around the thoughts
you touch them lightly with your hands
then you run, stop to love
you run again, stop to dream.
Smoke rings from your lips
fading into mine,
distant journeys into the blue
and eager hands
to weave webs of dreams and fears.
Grey city streets
light up as you walk by them
and the heart beats fast,
while you quickly fill the pages
with words born from a daze
and meadows of laughter and tears.
The music played to the rhythm of the heart
and the feet followed trails
traced by your dreams,
ebony drumsticks on cymbals of youth
measured the time
she taught us
to understand who we were
and what would have remained
of the time and space
in our soul.
She who passed from your lips to mine
hiding among the threads of those webs,
who travelled with us in the light
of ivory towers
was stomped, spent, abandoned,
before being reborn from the ashes
and from your lips.
If you can’t see me raise your gaze,
you will follow me, by following the flight of the swallows,
you will hear me in the flap of a butterfly’s wings,
I’ll be the flame of a candle
that burns slowly,
the smile of a peaceful soul,
I’ll be the Holy Water that’s poured onto your head.
I’ll sit beside you,
with my hands full of gifts
and words flowing from my lips.
I’ll be scent and sweat,
while collecting words of solitude
while collecting crumbs
from every table
to gift them to you
in the form of a prayer,
counting the beads of a rosary hour by hour.
My hands don’t leaf through the pages of life,
I have nothing to offer you but love,
the candle hasn’t been spent,
nor has the smile,
until you’re here to hold me in your heart.
I carry you within, like carrying a book that was never written
leafed through several times,
but hiding blank pages.
I carry you within, love
I look at you,
you are standing there in front of me, on the other side of the river.
Unspoken words flowing through
until they reach the sea,
dispersing without voice, without fear.
Who knows one day if I too
will drown in that river
to rediscover the essence of those silences,
to understand the meaning of what you have withheld
to find you again,
and to give you back my words unbroken.
Meanwhile I rest here to listen to the rustling;
walk and your love follows me, it latching on to me
I receive it and I carry it with me, holding it within
and I try to write that silence,
that fills the blank pages.
Poetry pulls me in
silence becomes words
I reach the sea,
I find you again.
Making annoying and petty sounds
and glimpsing happiness.
Creating exciting and sublime sensations
and falling into a crazy emotion.
How much of yourself
remains in your gestures,
how much of yourself
resonates in words.
Two opposite worlds are pending from your lips:
sky and earth,
dream and reality,
sublime and ephemeral.
A thin line divides those two worlds
and only one feeling
Will you be the earth that I’ll furrow
or a new horizon behind my sky,
will you be the dream dressing up my nights
or the reality stripping off my soul,
will you be the sublime that enfolds me
or the ephemeral returning dust to life.
Meanwhile your lips are on fire,
a symbol of annoying and petty
exciting and sublime love.
I didn’t hear your voice
only the sound of your breath,
I didn’t hear your words
only the sound of your heart,
in that breath
there was a gust of life
that vibrated my soul,
in that heartbeat
were held my dreams
prisoners of an infinite joy.
One day the heartbeat silenced
and the breath became a pain,
the soul was naked
and my dreams were freed, flying on grief.
Now I imagine you
being born among the roses of Heaven,
playing with the wind,
touching lightly the waves of the sea,
I see you running merrily on the meadow of my heart,
little angel of my dreams
fragile as a winter sunbeam.