The infant opened his eyes and asked the sky:
who are you mother?
tell me if I am like you.
The sky kept silent and the child started to cry.
turn your face to the woods, my child.
do you see that tree struck by lightning?
How could he keep inside himself the fire and the light?
How many years did it take until he fell broken in two?
how much love, how much beauty, how much truth, how much sorrow?
The child began to cry louder.
Mother, I miss you, tell me where I can find you.
Shut up, my child.
Look over the chimney, what do you see?
The child saw the whitish trail of smoke rising slowly in the air.
At the end of that frolic twist of smoke, there were three stars.
Then two. Then one.
The child covered his eyes and ran inside the house.
Old and frail, the child looks towards the three stars once more
and smiles: and you, my son, you too are like me.
it is a wonderful day that looks me straight in the eyes/ the cleanest moment when the sky of deep blue is leaning on the shoulders of the earth/ and the grass hardly grows as if from an ocean with its tips slowly swaying
it is easy to tie with the knot of your scarf two skies or two earths/ the scythe of bygone times seemingly bites from the future/ human beings are bits of sunshine because the thing that births them also kills them/ somewhere upon the sky of their soul
some of them cry without tears like the sad lunatics
those who never cried in vain
those who drop their teardrop as if from a wound in order to protect the life of lives about to come
with their faces gentle and sunken like leaves falling still tender
it was a beautiful story about little girls big as acorns reading other stories
sitting upon bewitched little mushrooms
with hot milk with honey inside amber cups before bedtime
I sat with my ear on forest soil
searching for the tree of trees
the giant from the fairy tale
his words stilled the whole breathing
didn’t you know that trees speak louder than the wind?
stay calm hard-boiled apple sun of a bastard goldfinch mouthwatering gingerbread
today I need to draw a rainbow like a hammock for all the dreaming in the world
like children do before ever seeing one
I miss the forbidden fortress that grows for centuries within ourselves
I cried and I believe that my teardrop is the stem of sunrise
let it be for offerings and sinlessness
we sharpen the bread knife. we spread the bilberry jam on the white
bread slice with the blade of the knife. clouds after clouds gather
over our heads. it almost smells like rain you tell me how beautiful
it will be when it will rain. how good it will be the very next moment.
we tell to each other our tales about the edge of time upon which we sit
back to back. only a piece of ground from where we will never escape.
after all what else can be happiness but this standstill. before something new
would happen. you know just like me that we almost forgot that we’re humans.
the wind is our friend and the silky rain the same. this make believe
of seen and unseen things. that means even the sun and even the black cats
that used to be scared in front of us hiding in the ill being of the night
because of too many exorcisms or too many domesticated gods. now
it is good even for me the one too much forgotten by her kin. I can see
beyond the animal side of things. I know that time flows and the price
of each and every word is bigger that it seems. we are together and this
is good. that’s what you tell me. I say that we are sad. a kind of merciful
and conscious sadness. something beautiful that makes the spectators of
the human condition to cry or to smile without being noticed by the others.
we are just two people or maybe many people who are bound to sell
opium for peanuts to others. yes.
it is wonderful that the world makes music or the world is changing
its underwear that the stars are silver spurs for a life that drags the yoke
underneath. the only reality that exists and thus we respect because
it is the one and only and we two we look at each other with love or
with the boredom of being alive we too in the same instinctual manner.