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.
you are not worth yet the price of a mustard seed
you lived neither 7 years of drought nor 3 nights without a day
through the core of your eyes you let inside a hurry-scurry
of swarming cherry petals flocks of crowned swans sunrises with a purple mantle
and all the vain beauty of this world
the gray nun’s outfit is so straightly cut
and the vestment of the nightingale is so poor
so do listen my friend to the deaf-mute mother swaying her sleeping baby
listen to the wordless and powerful silence in the last communion
yet it is still too much
I saw once a woman in a funerary cortege, the other women cried aloud or wept along the way, only she lagged behind like a sluggish stone she hardly breathed when the road suddenly climbed and the funeral banner fell at the graveyard’s gate, she was still silent like the earth, some people said that she was a witch or evil because she did not speak, but she looked gently towards them with pure and sparkling eyes
I met once a man who loved his child and gave him a beautiful fairy tale to be read every night, after many years the child deserted him and did not come back, but the old man looked at the child’s picture with the same love in his eyes, when he died people said that he was a bad man because he kept silent and thus the rats ate him in his grave, but after a few more years his child became silent too looking at others like his father did once
you are not worth yet the price of a mustard seed and neither do I
it was a city where high heels seldom popped
on the daily trespassed asphalt
but when that happened the earth trembled from its hinges
like the tables from the dining car
swirling swifter than toy pinwheels in the children’s playground
couples of lovers with thin shoe soles walked upon kerb stones
learning to step blindfolded eye-to-eye
like in a townsfolk’s facebook
people exchanged their wedding and baptism photos
look I give you my dead ones my past since Adam and Eve
you give me yours
we stay chatting we talk about talks we utter words about wording
some person tried to say something on his own and after that he broke apart
he forgot even about who art in heaven
he shrank water-soaked clinging to the wires
like an odd colored sock
it was in the beginning of the third millennium
when many still believed in Robinson Crusoe’s Bible
up in the pastures grass sprouts were still luscious and that was amazing
An angel is crying,
his wings are melting
like rain in the sand,
lake’s face trembles
amidst water lilies.
His load fell on his arms
and the white cherry tree,
drifts under storms…
the candle trays are heavy
I hardly find my way among dead and alive
holding a drop of new light
crossing myself with my hand still warm
people stand shoulder to shoulder
the bell-ringer pulls down the rope
I’m beginning to feel the earth’s silence
candle flames are sizzling in the sand
upright or bending
separated or united
I get out into the sunlight
slowly stepping over the grass
an old cross raises in the church’s yard
an apple tree had grown beside it
leaning completely towards sunrise
almost touching the stone
I come back under vaults
crossing myself again
breathing much deeper