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A PERPLEXED MIND

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 Perhaps it is only a thought, or a word uttered, or maybe just a ripple, a drop of the rain without meaning. Still the skin develops goosebumps, maybe from the chill wind, the fingers quiver, the teeth shiver with the initial words in mind. Farther away yet nearer, the initial expression dressed up in terror and sighting emerges from the darkness, still covered in a veil. But maybe, it was only a ripple, and yet its great cataracts fall, and fall, and fall, parting ways between steady hills of might. Its like trying to shape a sculpture with your hands, sensibly, wildly following your own whim with rage and equilibrium-every minute, you terribly fail. Wave after wave, filled with doubt like the thought of the ocean overflowing from its bottomless cup. Listening to the profound silence in the mind, sometimes deafening, yet with a night of storms filled with dry winds. Trying to make out what the huge silence in the mind means. The solitude, uncertainty, pain, anger, joy, laughter, ...
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A poignant recollection

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A POIGNANT RECOLLECTION The letters, numbers slowly fade, the walls cave in, the sun fades off and the vision is just gone. But still, poetry escapes through the breath, in sighs that rhyme with words in the mind. Words, words that never leave the mind yet very much alive. Moving towards the window to catch an ounce of breath, but everything is so vacant, a fog that is quartz grey obscuring the vison. The feeling of the wind, the moisture of it as it brushes on the delicate skin, but filled with a gloomy aura. Looking back inside the room, the chandeliers hanging so low, swinging so close to the ground, the once flawless ceiling, so worn out, so torn and creaking.  The lights flickering, every minute faster that the last, walls closer, and the lights, the lights fluctuating so rapidly, like a dying lamp in sepulchers.  The memory eludes, a lump in the throat, thoughts, emotions crashing upon the shore like an evening when the ocean has a high tide. Its all in the mind, maybe, ...
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Lunes Sin Fin (Endless Monday)

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  An interminable day begins when you realize that autumn is never what it used to be. When there are no longer dazzling colours of ambers, reds and yellows. When autumn turns badgers and squirrels into lone animals as they scramble during darker evenings. When the season gets colder and darker, when there is frost on the ground and mist in the air. When the colours have turned to a black strip along the long and famous woods that you played hide and seek with mates years ago. A place where you would run in your stockings with those soft hands picking up the orange leaves and twigs to create nests. When tumbling on the ground, being covered by the old stink of the moss under the beautiful leaves and weighing between letting your eyelids drop the immense tears that would form or putting on a poker face, trying as much not to tremble in the territory of dying garbage and be made fun of as others try to make you feel better. That was all that mattered. To be happy, to sleep and dream,...
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IN SPITE OF WRATH

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  Between the shadows and space, a young girl has possessed a strange heart, with dreams that make her pale, her head filled with the rage of grief, her grief. For two years she has nursed the same far thirst, the same fever and anguish with a word that hasn’t left her lips since then. She has written letters over and over, with a shadow in her soul that she could give up so as to have him back. Her nights have been long unmixed with oblivion, becoming a part of the atmosphere as a leash becomes part of a dog’s neck. She has called to things that have vanished, to beings that have vanished. Death is drawn to sound, its footsteps and its clothes echo, hushed like a tree. She hardly sees, but it seems to her that its song has the color of wet violets. Its gaze is etched with the moisture of a violet leaves and its color of exasperated winter. It goes about in the earth, riding a broom and lays waiting by the harbor, dressed as an admiral. Time has lapsed, the wounds, the void. And th...
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The drab city

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  Aimlessly i walk in this town. Thinking of hope, of love and peace. Its a city full of smoke, noise and hatred. Thought i could be part of its art, loose myself into it and be myself in it. It lies on the banks of some river, once was fresh but now flows of dark waters, darker than the night. Can't go swimming, its filthy. No quacking of ducks, no melodies just aimless sounds. In this place i thought happy endings lay awaiting. Birds sing sad songs...songs without a rhythm, lyrics without words... without a melody. The wind whispers of longing. It enwraps me with its embrace and am once again lost in the circle...  No children around, to lighten up the grey days in this place. Old men sit still, huddled together yet the sun shines bright. Eyes hollow and expressionless. Dry gazes from everyone and it's no longer welcoming. No more the place i longed for. I thought it was a beautiful place, full of green, full of bliss and I longed to be here. Tall chimneys towering above the...
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SANCTUARY OF CALM

🕊️🕊️☺️ Slow steady steps, changing the position to place the foot so regularly, like pawns on your chessboard. My footfalls slowly crunching on the carpet of dry rotten leaves overwhelming my body with a strange compulsion. Pieces of dry sticks snapping under my now added weight (one year back this wouldn’t have happened) the sounds scaring away little chirping birds as their fluttering wings created an agonizing pattern surrounding the solitude of the green fortress. I walked carefully trying to block the whispers from the wind and avoiding to stumble on tree stumps. At times I wondered of the beautiful green that would have existed if the trees were let to grow.  The more I walked, the more I lost the sense of the fragrance of every tree I knew by scent. The air filled with the reek of decay and the castings of worms. The towering woods made it hard to locate the luminous petal of silver that always freckled the sky every morning. Every morning I looked at it giving me memories...
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HOURS BEFORE SUN UP

 ❤❤❤ I watched the sky get darker unmixed with oblivion, covering the star all over again, reigning as it always did, one little star would pop once in a while but then the clouds were heavier, the shining light dimmed as if the night sky has never needed it. the night becoming a part of the atmosphere as how a knight’s whip becomes part of the horse’s skin. I closed my eyes and tried to see beyond the sky, maybe I could see beyond those clouds, I needed the light so bad that I was losing my breath, I felt like the sky was caving in, suffocating as I gulped trying to catch an ounce of breath. I wondered how long I would yield up the immense shadows I possessed with the blunt and useless swords calling for things and beings who had vanished.   Dark nimbus clouds hanging low, as if they longed so much to touch the ground, to have a stand, to not just hang in the middle air, it would feel good, to have a say in what you lived, but it isn’t always the case. The clouds grew darke...
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