the song of the one without name

you don’t have any direction neither upwards
nor downwards nor forbidden
like the country roads not traveled anymore
along the hungry gulches
you have neither sunrise nor sunset

I would have liked to sit talking philosophy with you
as if you were that priest aging beardless and without wrinkles
you stood in the pulpit and preached
the day after I woke up from that huge bed
with one hundred years old white pillows
adding another cross to carry over my chest

it was so nice to be handsome and attractive
to follow the stars rising in the sky
those not christened yet like mysteries never shared
those for the being and the unbeing
while you were like tender vespers sun falling beside me
so cozily into a nest of grass and sin
and maybe I should have explained to you
the way things were when all the others were insane to me
when I hadn’t yet forgotten
the taste of small golden fruit from the forbidden apple tree
at the boundary of my childhood garden
a future destined to be rotting beyond the oldest Bibles
especially beyond those with black spines

and how could this be so
to believe that people can accept me and you
both orphaned a long time ago
to believe that we could talk solely and purely philosophy
when everything seemed to be ground in some Quixote’s windmill
and I postponed on and on to read the sorrows of young Werther
while you always pulled away my life as if it were a straitjacket ?

yet I loved you without knowing who you were
you were yesteryear’s world to me

Categories: My poems in 2016, Uncategorized | Tags: | Leave a comment

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