They tell me in man
lies the source of evils
as weakness surrenders
to ineluctable lures.

That he pursues aims
of personal interest
out of egocentric greed
prompting justice, inequity.

That he turns blind eyes
to the sufferings of others
unable of compassion as he
steals their earthly blessings.

That he imperturbably drains
natural resources to his gain
careless of consequences
apathetic towards environment.

That in the name of telluric power
he does not hesitate to drop
bombs and fire guns
on discriminated innocents.

Watches his fellow beings die rejoices
for the success of his missions,
Yet I know, that for each
malicious creature there is one.

That preaches good and acts
accordingly, finding strength
in the marvel that is
his own existence.

That appals before ignorance
repels individualism
conceives humanity as one race
believes and strives for equality.

That sees the struggles the tragedy
of the less fortunate born
on lands of war sickness and poverty
lending a hand of empathy.

That cares for his surroundings
cherishing the boons granted
to all living creatures
endeavouring to protect, his world.

That is dismayed by injustice
abhors violence and abuse
engages courage to protest
incessantly crying out, for peace.

Delights gifting strangers smiles
tender looks of presence whispering
brotherly, You are not alone.

A kind word, a loving deed, a revolution.

Sheltered in deep abysses, enveloped
By the soft touch of translucent salted fluids,
Voluptuous fluctuating bodies of enthralling creatures
Inhabit the unscathed aquatic spheres, impishly enjoying
The uncountable marvels of spirited marine existence.

Secret currents carry turtles migrating ten
Thousand miles or more across the oceans in search
Of jellyfish and warmer waters with remoras sliding backwards,
Clinging onto them by suction as mantas pursue
Shrimps and krill before the passage of baleens.

Dolphins splash about communicating sounds, flamingo tongue
Sea snails leaving trails, of dead coral tissue in their wake. Red
Vase sponge copiously producing slime as squids swim by,
Focusing their prominent eyes on targets while colourful *****
Walk sideways, foraging for small, spiny, globular urchins.

Sneaky sharks finely tune electromagnetic sensors marked
By pits on their snouts to detect, slight muscular movements,
Down to heartbeats of preys, fighting battles with flying hawks
Over penguins, and trumpetfish align themselves with other
Vertical objects and sea stars, regenerate lost body parts.

Moving as one, schools of sweetlips explore accompanied
By devoted cleaner wrasses grooming them to keep
Their skin and mouths free of infection-causing parasites.
All play the game, of balance and harmony in the underworld,
While mermaids travel along the few remaining vessels of

Stranded humans in quest of land.

Two coffee shops, one left one right, ancient
History of modern Rome, post-war families saving
Ethiopian delights, surviving selling beans rebuilding
The Eternal City, bringing back normality by drugging

Insanity. I knew them both since I was a child, holding
My father’s hand while he drank, the elixir and I
Ate my tramezzino looking up at his smile. Contagiously
Spreading the good vibes as he joked, with young

Bartenders sons, of local bar owners serving
Residents. Went to each yesterday, one for cigarettes
The other, for corretto, another way to gulp a drop
Of spirit disguising, in the tiny cup, of a dark mask.

Young tapsters have grown old yet remain, brewing
In solitude, relatives absent some departed.
At the cashier two Chinese ladies discovered, to be
The wives of new owners, foreigners employing

Italians, weird products of migration, for ambitious
Populations conquering integration, as their kids
Go to the same school as mine and locals mock
The change, living in the glory of the past, when

National espresso only charged, seven hundred lire
European currency exchanged, in ninety cents for those
Who don’t know, triple its original price. My bank
Stuck in the middle of the two has also changed

In twenty years, my first account at eighteen
Transformed, me into the witness of many comes
And goes, directors and vice, bankers and services
Evolving to reward, my loyalty with fraud.

Two nights ago it shamelessly stole, fifty euros of me
Claiming, inexistent liabilities on a contract that had none.
Peanuts to unconscious holders, asking explanations
To hear clerks remark, they have no idea and will

Eventually know in ten days time, when the statement
Will sentence the crime, as legal commending me to shut
Up, accept the theft, give thanks. Going tomorrow to grab
A coffee and close, twenty years of history, mine.

Tick-tock the hands of the clock plock
the pendulum swings to the immutable
rhythm of hypnotic seconds measuring time,
the soundtrack to the great oeuvre that is

our life. An existence we perceive
ephemeral, thus instinctively preparing
suitcases since inception, on an earthly
sphere we interpret merely as a vestibule,

be it a pretty one awaiting to embark
on a journey to a destination unknown,
neatly folding experiences one by one,
hiding mistakes between the nethermost

layers, shameful feelings, regrettable deeds
tucked under blankets of tears, loving
sentiments nostalgically stowed as valuables
in secret pockets where fears glow.

Achievements meticulously placed in side-
compartments for easy retrieval, references
just in case, identity printed in capital letters
on a stateless passport holding the blank

ticket stretching ears to heed announcements,
last call for immediate boarding, hopefully
after blowing on candles times enough
for departure to be tolerable, desirable. Yet

the bell tolls every so often unexpectedly,
rendering the baggage of a life time instantly
redundant, while climbing the invisible ladder
naked, slowly dissolving into the ether, a rapid

transition between who we are, have been
and will be once more, pure energy melting
to recompose, metamorphosis in tune not
with the pendulum but with the mute

timeless cosmic flow encompassing all,
the solemn moment the weight suspended
from the pivot ceases to swing.

Watching the crowd I ponder
On all the crowds that came before,
Since the first chimps gathered
Ignoring what they might become,
And I question, ‘Does this crowd know?’

Demonstrating for peace, mourning the victims,
Demanding revenge, ‘obliterate’ another crowd,
‘**** ’em all, none of ’em are me friends!’
Chaotic and confused, do they even attempt,
Meditating on who they are growing into and might become?

Depictions of crowds in history take me back
On the timeline of our journey, when **** habilis
Came to be erectus, grouping under a shelter
Protecting fire to survive, evolve and develop.
How would he consider humanity today? Would he understand?

And what would early Sapiens think if he saw us?
Would he renounce the exodus from Ethiopia?
A crowd in search of new spaces to call home
Exploring the marvels of its curiosity and potential.
Would he turn around and spare us the distress of future conquests?

And when the last Neanderthal and Floresiensis died
And skins began turning light, anthropology to recognise
The survival of one and only **** genus species,
Sapiens all worldwide, how did it forget who he was and where he came from?
How did it, or we, end up fighting each other out of fear and greed?

When did life stop being enough?
When did our mere existence stop
To bewilder us in marvel and delight?

They run down corridors, penetrate
Eardrums, tympanic membranes vibrating
Sounds of whispered ignorantia, injected
In minds, spewed out of unclosing mouths.

Actively engaged in spreading the word,
As meticulous news reporters committed
To divulge, unfounded information, undercover
Agents passing off as martyrs compelled,

To fulfil their duties pretending
To reluctantly execute a social service, yet,
No one knows whether the lady down
The street truly cheated, nor if her daughter

Also slept with the alleged lover, while
The audience is convinced and has convicted
The adultery of the first sentencing the second,
To shame and long-lasting denigrating fame.

The punishment assigned to the free walking
Defendants, found guilty by a jury of their peers,
A public court rising to judge an offence
Sickly existing merely in those insinuating

Voices, inundating the tribunal corridors
Of the neighbourhood, the city, the world,
Tv and the web. Leaving the only words
That count engraved in marble, epitaph

On the tombstone of a suicidal man,

‘In loving memory of Mallory Dupe.
Beloved husband of Helen and loving
Father to Giselle. Shamelessly killed
By rumours. No redemption granted.’

I look at you often, always have, enticed
and seduced more, than you’ll ever know.
Your sight overwhelmingly sooths me, lifts
my spirits up high, closer to you as I wonder,
where you end and begin, where you meld

stealthily with my being.

Stretching my inadequate body to reach,
unable to touch you I feel, the gentle caress
of your ethereal otherworldly skin, all over,
around and within, me. Enveloping my shape
you suggest, metamorphoses to come

as we blend.

You, unable to utter a word, speak, so loudly
to my deafened ears prevailing vibrations echo,
in the warmth of my veins. Your muteness penetrates
unhindered my listening consciousness compelled
to give in to the richness of your horizon filled,

with promises and potentials.

Recognising my essence in one of a thousand
sceneries you majestically create, making me
feel special, proposing I am unique, till the moment
I believe, keeping the secret all to myself, unwilling
to share, to lose, to acknowledge the truth.

As I grow in your pervasive shadow however
you scold my limitedness, monstrously obliging me
to accept, you are not mine, we are not exclusive
and I alone, am not unique. No reserves to passions
shared, with many more. I look at you and feel so far.

I cannot even reprimand your betrayal, admiring
your mightiness and bounties as you love, protect
and embrace the entire human race, inviting me
to rid of greed, of wanting you all for me, until
I realise, you are me, and together we encompass

the whole of humanity.

I will be born in fourteen hours
thirty-seven years ago,
from the labour of my mother
into Doctor Lucatelli’s hands.

How could I have known or did I
the amazing wondrous life reserved,
the privileges in store the blessing
of a consciousness that dares.

I will be a happy child, emanating joy,
adults and elders will listen to my stories
imbued with my essence, imbrued in fantasy
sparkling smiles.

In my teens they will compliment me
on my wisdom and gentleness, sense
of responsibility, little will they know
the freedoms I’ll enjoy, the libertine notes.

By the age of majority I will defy
death, a fight to see who’s stronger
needless to say, I will win over and over again,
I’ll get acquainted with myself.

I’ll graduate and find a job, have a kid
at twenty-three, a second four years later
a lifetime friendship with their adorable father.
I’ll be successful in building projects for others.

Until I won’t. I soon will realise what I want
find my courage and decide, to become
rather than merely be, me. Fast-forward
another ten years, see books be published,

indulge in writing poems,
study the universe and the mind,
observe as if it was my first day,
beginning in fourteen hours.

Magic arboreal lights suffuse
amid the fertile underwood,
sheltered by rebirthing leaves
on the tall tree branches of a secret

forest, after the white cold carpet
of pale snow gives way to nature’s
awakening, from wintry lethargy
when plants and flowers rise

to blossom, green pastures offer
fertility to the somnolent hungry
inhabitants, as marvelled they gaze
in wonder fault of an archaic ingenuity

before, what are unknown to humans
as fireflies. To date all still ignore
the prodigies and riddles they carry,
their beguiling looks and doings,

for they shine to hide from incredulous eyes
omitting they are the ones who ring
the bells of spring’s return. Minute
enchanting creatures of sapphire silk

hair dressed in aquamarine
satin and lace, fays bearing
the magical lanterns of life.

I was officially born in the 17th century.
My homeland was England.
My parents were many.
They conceived me in coffeehouses.

I was officially born in the 17th century,
When the crowns of Scotland and England united,
When James VI, King of Scots,
Ascended to the throne of England as James I;
When civil wars between roundheads and cavaliers
Ended in Parliamentary victory,
At the Battle of Worcester.

I was officially born in the 17th century,
At the time of Interregnum,
Commonwealths, Glorious Revolution,
William and Mary
and the English Bill of Rights.
Reformation and proliferation of literacy:
People learnt to read the Bible,
Then chose to be curious and explore,
Secular literature and novels
In circulating libraries.

My parents were many.
They conceived me in coffeehouses,
Scattered around the city,
Spread throughout the country,
And finally reached abroad:
Another Revolution,
on the other side of the Channel.

My parents were many.
They met at intellectual bacchanalia,
In reading societies and clubs,
‘Cause that’s where news was communicated.
Freely criticizing politics and governments,
They engaged in conversations
in an environment of confrontation,
Social status set aside,
To listen, exchange, formulate,
Understand and comprehend.

Another William called me ‘mistress of success’,
Blaise thought I was ‘the queen of the world’.
Being well informed and debate in social networks
Was a duty, before being a right,
As my parents’ opinion would guide the rulers,
Ideally in the interest not of few, not of many,
but of all.

First heeded by governments,
They quickly learnt to manipulate me,
They muzzled me and domesticated me,
Taking away my freedom and relevance,
With the unofficial excuse by which
My parents were too ignorant
to even have a voice.

Now those coffeehouses have changed their shape,
Intangible, virtual, ethereal,
New spaces for new parents
To develop ideas, opinions,
And exchange;
Not currencies or stocks
but information and views.

I am my parents’ voice,
My name is Public Opinion.

I know who you are, I lived you, caressed
your involucre, immersed in your depth,
saw the entangled black worms creeping
inside you clogging your arteries, asphyxiating

your organs to insanity, as colourful
butterflies flee from your orbits, escaping
your darkness wetting your eyes, when
you bitterly smile.

I recognise you, your thoughts tarnishing
my mind, understand each one of them as if
they were mine, inhaling what inspires you
grasping the intensity of what’s invisible

to me and so clear to your impeccable
logic, every twist and straight line of your rationality,
all the synapses connecting dots through, nervous
impulses you so eagerly burn in smoke.

I distinguish who and what you hold dear, where
you hide your memories and how you use them,
the books you read and those you pretend
you did, the dread of glasses resting on your nose,

the physical agony your endure each time,
the weather changes, each time you move
to please me, before I fall asleep to the words
of the seven voices within you.

I feel your essence, cherish what delights you,
random pleasures attentive to details while
pupils transpire the shadows of your sorrows,
traveling time to acknowledge their origin,

your traumas and pains, I sense your tragic
nobility. I know why you shout acquainted,
with your biggest enemy, yourself, endangering
your health with drugs and alcohol,

your intelligence torturing you, your emotions
suiciding you.

I know you are unable to help yourself and that I
can’t either, and I now know I have to keep
a distance, for chemical reactions get me
addicted to your worst.

Granted the sense of sight, I see
What you see, reflections of light, between
Infrareds and ultraviolets, a little portion
Of the electromagnetic spectrum, unhidden
To our vision, only guessing the wonders of X
And Gamma rays, while playing with colours.

Entrusted with a mind able to recognise and realise,
I comprehend what you understand, and distinguish
Water from soil, oceans from forests, planet Earth
From star Sun, food from poison, love from hate, my body
From yours, delineating where I end and you begin, detecting
Our similitude as a species, bound by rationality and feelings.

Conferred unfathomable imagination, intangible
Deprived of a location, I delight myself in conceiving
Your ideas, identifying with your thoughts, magical grasp
Of the unknown and uninvented, able to create my perceptions,
Give life to conceptions, just like you, pouring words on paper,
Painting images on canvas, building shelters and wheels.

Bequeathed the legacy of common ancestors, millennia
Of history and knowledge, culture, tradition and creeds, evolution,
I share your story, your anatomy and physiognomy, your blood
And DNA, a map of all the genes composing you and me,
Trillions of cells gathering together to make a human being,
With the strongest impression that I resemble you, in so many ways.

Bestowed with consciousness I contain
Information I explore, attempting to unleash
The essence stored within, that unspecified certain thing
That unites all that exists, and elicits humankind to believe
Something greater, something beyond has a determined volition
For me to apprehend that I am you, and you are me.

I touched water yesterday white and cold,
purposely hardened by pugnaciously low
temperatures fighting to withhold
the solid fluid against a thieving star, roaring

sweltering rays to melt, moulded men
made of snow, as the girl grew disappointed
expecting whipped cream texture, lack of softness,
digging deep with fingers covered in gloves,

to make ***** to throw at others who will smile
at the jovial play, insensitive to the endeavours
of the eroded mountain modelled by many million
years of scorching suns, blistering winds,

blizzards freezing falls as they cascade, sculptures
made by nature crossed by bridges, so heavenward
drivers succumb to overwhelming giddiness
before entering an endless claustrophobic tunnel,

where science laboratories hide secrets
of the universe under a three thousand meter
elevated rock. The Great Rock of Italy an immense
park, where protected species graze unscathed,

farmers’ labours engender culinary delights
for an imprisoned dictator, while
physicists discover neutrinos beating light
at a dashing race, and Ladyhawke mutates to fly

over a nocturnal vagabonding wolf. I touched
water yesterday, white and cold, and I could
only imagine the enthralling moment when
spring will come and all shall liquesce

to replenish rivers and lakes, irrigating soils
for centenary trees to blossom once again
granting life to living creatures witnessing
the grand spectacle of perfectly attuned cycles.

Enchantingly nonchalantly unfurling before
blind eyes merely able to gape in awe
ephemeral smithereens of expanding plenum,
the abyssal pervasive womb encompassing all

that exists, was is and will be, nurturing
emptiness with energy for nothingness not
to be. Swirling particles coalescing to breed
unfathomable incandescent spheres

radiating blistering lights in waves, hurtling
everywhither as beacons celebrating glory
of omnific productions till mirific explosions
scatter pieces crisping to bond, under laws

of attraction relentlessly spinning, rotating
an elliptic orbit at a distance, showered in eons
by debris enclosing drops of lymph, finely
elegantly tuned through evanescent time, to allow

the esoteric birthing of rare creatures gazing,
curious and inquisitively reflecting, recognising
mother does not contemplate repetition nor
perfection, as she haphazardly reveals inestimable

varieties, offspring of sweeping sublime
creativity with which she munificently shares
a comprehensive consciousness inspired,
suggesting the child indeed could grasp

the extent of infinity
despite blind eyes.

Seclusion leads to wonder
Forgetting the sound of my voice,
As speaking loses purpose
And observation becomes my only drive.

A square with benches surrounded by trees
Pebbles clattering as kids would climb on
The mighty statue of an ancient judge.
A spot I made my own.

Random people passing by, few
Take shelter from chaos and heat,
Absorbed in their own minds
A frantic world seemingly leading to madness.

A ***** smelly sashaying woman seats on a bench,
Places her ******* garbage bags next to her
While rambling incomprehensible words of anger.
‘That’s where solitude leads you!’ I presumptuously think.

A slender tall middle-age man, just as ***** and smelly,
Comes up to her shouting she does not care enough
About him. She refuses to talk and walks away.
‘No matter who you are, feelings are always the same!’

A man in his sixties and a young sunny girl
Take their place on the bench, chatting away.
He narrates experiences she enchantedly absorbs,
‘A beautiful father and daughter scene’ I naively assume.

As they smile tenderly, his hand swiftly glides under her skirt,
She approaches him to kiss his ears and neck.
Such warmth, delicacy and joy heat my heart
Wondering what the judge might have to say.

As I take notes of my observations I raise my eyes,
A lonely loud sobbing kid is now sat on the bench.
His mother crossly approaches to scold him,
‘Another disrespectful brat’ I shamefully determine.

Once he finishes beating his feet on the ground
He looks up at the lady seeking an embrace. He gets consolation
For losing a toy, his departed father had carved a little while ago.
‘We all miss our father at some point.’

Those benches have been my parlour for many years,
Random people passing by, absorbed in their own minds
A frantic world seemingly leading to madness,
Until the day I realised I was one of them.

All these people populate my being,
They are the reason why I sense and live
In harmonic peace, feeling the inevitable unity
With a universe inhabited by such extraordinary yet

Fragile creatures.

The casing we cling onto so greatly
reassures us that indeed we do exist,
for our impalpable spirit
at times, appears merely a dream.

Our eyes in which we look so deep
as if attempting to grasp the within,
shining bliss or saddenedly opaque
dilate at every fascinating detection,

our hair of many colours, curly or straight
a frame to our visage round or oval
we recognise as ours, reflected on
crafted sea sand for us not to forget,

who we are, focusing on its features
one by one, wrinkles portraying
our escapades scrutinised in search
of traces of happiness amid the many scars,

as a central protuberance inhaling
detects scents of others
registered to elicit memories, red lips
our mouth uttering sounds we call words

through vibrating vocal chords stored
in our throat, our neck tirelessly supporting
the head, on our shoulders bearing
the knots revealing our frustrations

insanity, while arms are still willing
and able to carry out intentions,
five fingered hands at their extremities
to mould ideas give them space

in the physical realm, our torso
encaging to protect muscles
pumping life where distinction
is made between woman and man,

for she in clothing hides her *******
of nourishment for progeny to grow,
our stomach flat or bloated conceals
a second mind, enteric nervous system

responding to emotions, our pelvic
cavity beneath, where reproductive organs
give, pleasure to the living
engendering new lives, our thighs,

knees and calves supporting
our every motion so that we
could wander the land discover
understand, our feet

rooted to the ground for balance,
for us not to loose touch
with reality fly away
in realms of fantasy, our skin

delicate involucre of it all, shelling
our skeleton keeping us *****, protecting
trillions of cells
unfathomably combining to compose,

us.

Not struggle begot by necessity
beholds omnificence. And talent
alone does not suffice nor keeps
in store efforts of tenacious will.

Resolve is solely grounded in a drive
Inclined to transcendence, beyond
Body and mind to prove
To ourselves we are much more

Than cardiac pumps, cerebral synapses,
While something from within creeps
Tormented as it aspires to reach
Out and higher, emerging from ashes

Of apathy to spill wonders. Curiosity,
Potential, audacity the quest,
For impossible perfection a concept
Inexistent to the Universe,

As blithe omniscient nature need not
Imagination to grasp its own essence,
Gently infusing drops of unfathomable
Consciousness to a creature moulded

To become aware of itself and all that exists.

To all those I chanced upon in past realms I recall
every one of you, needless of effort as hoard
your encounter within me completing the oeuvre
painting my essence, portraying my existence.

To you my kindergarten friend I wonder
what you have become. Golden curls enveloping
your round freckled face I took you by your hand,
dragged you everywhere I went.

Do you still trade leaves for pine nuts?

To you my circus man, counting stories of a second
World War comradery as we walked the morning hours
with your two white fluffy poodles through Roman
squares helping painters put up their stands.

Do you still wear your leather cowboy boots?

You they say one never forgets. We grew together
on summer holidays in Greece until you grew a passion
for hunting dogs and with the clumsy excuse
of taking them for a walk took me to the woods

on a moonless night for my first kiss.

To you who stuck with me through thick and thin
showering me with affection always a master
in making me laugh, epicurean philosophies to live
a happy life. Eloping fantasies neglected until we parted.

Did you ever make it to Australia?

And what about you my blues musicians, guitars
in our hands carelessly seated on the ***** floors
of San Lorenzo, we used to dance exchanging
our experiences for beers and shots of ***.

Do you still play notes of Vaughan?

To you my old-time street stranger homelessly
keeping an eye on me along my nocturnal returns,
when singing birds announce colours and odours
of the dawn as we shared warm croissants at four.

Are you still alive?

To all those I chanced upon in past realms I recall,
You are oh so many blessed gifts of life to me,
I thank you for completing the oeuvre painting
my essence portraying my existence.

The place was the unexpected carefree host
Of several tipsy nights wetted
By friendly toasts and temporary infatuations,
Lasting the duration granted
By gulping red clepsydras measuring
Time with the flow of inebriating substances.

My passion alas soon drove to the abolishment
Of such street hours of darkness to the benefit
Of clarity, concentration and sobriety,
For the unfolding of a novel awaiting
Virtual carbon particles to stain
Imaginary paper pages.

The place hence became my daylight salon,
Betaking myself to it, a necessary resolution
To having a semblance of social life, a foot
In the “real” world, while taking a compulsory break
From self-relegation to the seclusion
Of my private abode and imagination.

The sun, a spotlight directed on the thespians,
Lifting the nocturnal curtains, to unveil their act.
The stage, a familiar space for adult orphans,
Searching in Bacchus casual company.
Amongst the heterogeneous lot, a tall, big-lipped
Man, plays reminiscences of Tambourines.

His wide smile uncovers chipped white teeth,
Clashing with the colour of his skin.
The first time I saw him he was giddily bragging
Of recent dates made of sandwiches eaten
Sheltering from heat, in the fresh vegetable department
Of the discount down the road, from his apartment.

Incredulously I believed him, until he told me not to,
As of then he would be, my new befitted friend.
The big time dealer serving the entire region,
Always there when you need him,
To take care of the kids or escort you to the dentist
When in pain and to the other side of the city.

Notorious for going out of his way for others,
Generous with time, kind words, smiles and money,
His job does not define him yet completes
The spreading euphoria his presence bestows
Upon those who look for him or those
Who simply stumble into him, by chance.

Fastidious noises, thoughtless behaviours,
Far from consciousness, lack of education
Or merely of attention, while hands pick
Food plunging in serving bowls to stuff
The mouth so plenty it barely closes.

Licking fingers, displaying stained teeth,
Chewing forcefully, yearning for oxygen
Between an uttered word and a mumbled
One. Fostering boorishness masquerading
As liberty, as if politeness is currently outdated.

Reducing the annoyed to an uptight unable
To enjoy freedom, where mannerism is a cell,
As I courteously turn the other way and refrain
From speaking my true mind, not to offend,
As I have been brought up to be considerate,

And swallow.

Eyes dimmed by calicanto vapours find

ecstasy in blurs as sandalwood scents arise
from burning candles, melding to provoke
an original entrancing redolence, a fay’s
potion delicately sending me into raptures.

Cocooned in the crystalline aqueous lymph
nakedness allows fondling drops to slither,
softly caressing skin with each emersion only
to immerse once more for greater pleasure.

Intensifying warmth enhances my perception
of this bliss persuaded, that nothing else
could touch me in this place, placental womb
imperturbable enchantment, secluded, from

reality shielded by a shell made of steam.

Enthralling haze incites fantasy to unleash
enticing indulgence in blind hallucinations
where ethereal substance imposes its flesh
upon my liquescing essence.

Chimerical cleansing drowning impurities
that will escape, when I’ll remove the cap
I will watch them whirl away, sheathed
in my bathrobe a chalice of red wine

will remain untouched as I’ll refuse
to relinquish the beguiling delight.

Whenever I allow myself to think of love, my mind runs
To the chambers where secret memories are stored,
In sealed chests, on high unreachable shelves, deterring me
From opening, dreaded Pandora boxes, stripped of hope.

Yet sometimes the endeavour to reminisce overwhelming
Feelings I struggle to repress, commands me to climb the stairs,
Unclose the safes of the unspoken, as I forbid tears
From pouring, out of clouded eyes, still loving.

You are there, with your roguish smile, chivalric deportment,
Statuesque poise, Michelangelo’s David, I compared, giddily
Gazing at your tragic features as if you were, the one
And only whom I could ever love, desire, crave, forgive.

Suddenly though not unexpectedly, intrudes the scolding guardian
Of remembrances, treating me as an impostor in my own mind,
A thief of frames concealed, yelling at me as you used to, reminding me
Of reality, your swinging lunatic humours, mercilessly lashing me with words.

Scars time will never heal, they lie when they say it will,
It has no power over what we were, nor can it erase even the slightest
Faintest flare of what we felt. Whenever I allow myself to think of love,
I still think of you, but that’s the maximum I consent to do.

Little difference between
Cherry blossom and birth,
Of tadpoles, lions and stars,
Reflections of light
In refractile eyes.

Everything in motion
Set to evolve,
Into a thousand wonders
As the Universe
Expands,

Creating distances
Amongst objects striving
To reunite,
As All that exists is One,
And can only travel bonded.

A concept, a word, poison injected
in worn-out veins, tired of fighting
seeking peace, with weapons on
remote lands disregarded, brainwashed

by spurious terrestrial powers to suggest
indeed there is a reason to continue
colouring flags in red, blood of men sent
at war to protect, rights and honour those

blatantly depriving others of theirs,
secretly eager to quench their greed,
piling up dollar bills closing deals,
giving out coffins, rejoicing for their deeds,

collectively unrecognising freedom is
only to be found in surrender,
to the Universe and its course, fine
tuning our existence to the harmony

of its sublime rhythm elegantly
orchestrated by natural laws, the only
truly ruling, thrusting liberty upon all,
yet too blind to drop the guns

and believe indeed there is much more
to us,
than poison.

Intangible perception of reflecting light,
Electromagnetic radiation stimulating
Mammalian photoreceptors, six million
Cone cells densely packed, in a point three
Millimetres area known, as the fovea centralis
Residing at the core, of colour-grasping retinas.

Red, green and blue, bases of interpretation,
As all others can be matched with a combination
Of the three, for trichromats to see, distinguish
Energy of wavelengths to believe in deception,
Think that colours do exist, a gift of pigments
Inherited from early vertebrates, while fish

And birds may see Ultraviolets, as they are given
An extra one. Classification in categories,
Yellow, orange, purple, indigo and many more,
Associated with objects through wavelengths
Of light reflecting from them depending on physical
Properties deciding, whether to reflect specularly,

Scatter or absorb. Objects thus have the colour
Of the light leaving their surface, while rainbows
Continue to enchant exquisitely, the eye of the
Beholder struggling, to understand the physics
Of such bewildering apparition. Waiting for evolution
To give it a few pigments more, for it to see beyond.

I believe in never speaking the words,
‘Should have’ and ‘would have’, enemies
Of the Self.

Though many were the times
I should have, would have known
Better,

Life treated me well. Bad moments
Acknowledged as necessary paths,
To becoming who I am.

Now I am asked to ponder and find
One thing I would do
Otherwise.

I know exactly what it is and I’m ashamed
To confess: Say ‘No’ all the times I said ‘Yes’,
Unwillingly.

A chronic violence to myself,
To please others under emotional blackmails,
Fake rules of good behaviour and respect.

I should have, would have liked
To love myself more and find
The ****** courage to say ‘No’,

All the times I said ‘Yes’.

Infancy talked to me various languages, switching
Tonalities for different melodies, to be learnt.
Naturally acquiring the discernment, recognising
Faces and voices to choose applicable native tongues.

English with my father, whose name echoed as Plato,
Iranian with my mother, Italian with my siblings, French
With school teachers, Greek on summer holidays.

Growing up my hair and accents, led to the inevitable
Repetitive question, ‘Where are you from?’
Timidly answered as it was hard to comprehend, until I set
Myself to do so untiringly drafting precious family trees.

Investigations interrogating relatives to exhaustion,
Ignited my pride for every single drop of blood,
Composing me and drawing borders
On geographical maps delineating my essence.

My story was one of many, they labelled me a multi-ethnic,

For my daddy’s naissance in Accra from a mulatto beauty
Queen, daughter of a British doctor and his Ghanaian lady friend.
For her husband, his Hellenic pater, son of Chios, born in Sudan.

For my mummy’s naissance in Tehran from a noble
Banker, progeny of the Qajar dynasty originally Turkic,
And his pure blood Persian wife.

My parents met in England where they studied only
To marry and move to pre-revolutionary Iran. I was born
In Rome where they fled, when insurrections began.

Now if someone asks I forcefully respond,
“From planet Earth. A terrestrial little sphere at the heart
Of its star system, on the edge of its galaxy lost
Somewhere in space in the maze of the Universe.

My story is one of many, I labelled us humans.

I was born in green valleys to the effort of strong hands
roughened by the harshness of ungentle wintery gales.
Delight permeated space as they smiled to see me flourish,
Showering me with attention, care and compliments.

Perennially making sure I had all I needed as if I was
an incomparable incomplete treasure. For me they went as far
as killing storm clouds to shield me from hail, keep me
warm and protected. I thought they loved me for too much

energy, love and courtesy were devoted to me. Yet,
as soon as I started creatively sculpting blossoms, gems
of garnet concealing ancient praise, on an autumn day,
a distinguished man came to judge me prepared.

And that is when, my gratified father gave the order
to take me to the cellar strip me naked, ****** me
in a large basin, to be trampled over and crushed, shaped
for the pleasure of others. Vampires awaiting a chalice

of blood as my lymph, delicately streamed into barrels.
In agony there I was abandoned, for years secluded until
My release, from wooden prisons to glassed cells.
They dressed me up and took me out to bars,

Sold me to the best bidders promising I would quench,
their thirst and make them forget, sorrows and worries
if only for a night. To date you can still find me at hand,
I’ll be your inebriating servant as I slither into your mouth,

intoxicate your essence with mine.

It’s been three months since I last,
And I thought I wouldn’t mind, I sufficed
My hands engaging, writing delicate words
Overwhelming spirit only craving,

Transcendence of my thoughts
To the esoteric demesne of the unknown.

Yet I now find myself, dreaming carnal dreams
At night, unwilling to wake up to indulge
A little more, in the arms of faceless fantasy
Seducing me in warmth. A lover’s touch,

Rolling under covers in the mist
Of vapours exhaling from intensifying breaths,
Whimpering over painful delights
Of pleasure, eyes closed

Until they open to discover
It was sun beams caressing, not a body
Nor a smile, sensual gaze disappearing
In consciousness arousal as I strive,

To return to sub realms lost in REM
As fast as they flashed before me
Seven seconds of intimacy I thought,
I did not need.

Untranscending anatomy rooted
In the corporeal demesne of the known.

Once upon a time
You were important.
Once upon a time
They were inquisitive.
They listened.
They asked.

They were fascinated and marvelled
By your stories of the past,
Neglected by fault of ignorance
Sought for through awe-inspiring curiosity.

They believed you possessed
Wisdom and experience,
Knowledge of the otherwise
Unknown.
They gathered around you,
Or perhaps beside you
And in front of a fire
Begging you to speak
Drooling over your words.

You were their entertainment
Like pirates, they wanted you to hand over
Your treasures
Like sharks, they devoured your essence
Like vessels, they slowly disappeared
Surfing away on a web
You never saw, barely know
Or comprehend.

Your services are no longer required
They found a new friend
They call Google,
One followed by a hundred zeros.
You cannot bit that
You do not stand a chance.

Here is where the story gets better
They invented rules for words
The code is political correctness.
It obliges them to pretend,
To respect you
By continuously finding
New flattering definitions for you.
By now, you are not even “old” anymore
You have lost the right to
Your lifetime achievements award.
You are just “older” than someone else is.

“Older” enough to retire
With honours.
They have finally decided
To acknowledge
Your inevitable infirmity.
They are offering you a new perspective
Awarding you with a one-way ticket
Free ride
To your beautiful new home,
So that you can rest.
A well-deserved rest.

You are simply démodé.
The stories you carry
Are of no interest anymore.
Memories are written
Tombstones too.
They are gazing at the future
Drooling over the fantastic
Possibilities.
The book they are reading,
You are not in.

Treasures of the eldest
Buried at sea
Rest assure you will be retrieved,
When a pressing sense of bleakness
Accompanied by devastating guilt,
Will bring them back to you
Compelling them to ask once again
“Please tell us stories of the past”.

‘How many hairs on the palm
of your hand?’ my father used to ask
waiting to note, whether I would look.

‘None!’ gullible little me would reply
as he smiled asserting the quest
was in itself indeed the first

sign of madness,
to my bittersweet disappointment.

Little would he know then, that years
later growing up I would no longer search
yet would suffer as it happens from

mental distress,
to my tortured existential struggle.

Learning to hide hints and symptoms
of derangement I would confide
only to my Self, beloved faithful ally,

thereby exhibiting the second sign
solaced by Aurora to believe it was fine
whilst enjoying the conversation.

A dialogue between the many versions
of Self unfolding, for me to discover ego
laughing to my jokes, caressing my cheeks

whispering words of soothing power,
sympathising with endeavours
clement with my limits, coaching me

to courageously strive
to surpass them.

Counting stories of imagination
which would later be written
by my hands holding fountain pens

pouring ink on mute white papers,
a life of insanity within which
reason finds its peaceful abode.

As I now look around and observe
all the sane normal people who neglect
listening and talking to themselves,

I realise that my soliloquy engenders
a unique blissful bond, whereby
the trillion pieces composing me all

interconnect soundly rooted
in essential loving accord.

Details as tiny flecks of sand,
From the abysses of deepest waters
Rise above creating land,
For us to walk on solid grounds
Carpets of thin glass,
As they unfold immensity
One grain at the time.

There is a space, hidden from the eye
Of all creatures residing Earth only I,
Cognise and call my own as I alone,
Walk its secret paths entangled
Meanders ascending towards thoughts.

A cave of shadows revealing its nature,
Where senses are dismissed for ideas
To sparkle intuitions of reality I grasp,
Eyes closed, ears shut, no fire burning
Behind me to project illusions before me.

Here, I defy the diktat of physical condition,
Truths only true to animalistic interpretations,
Inebriated by the spirit of greater verities
A place as immense as the Universe,
Concealed within me pigeonholed Mind.

While Ariadne held the clew
for Theseus to find his way,
a thread to escape the labyrinth
where the Minotaur was slayed,

Persephone awaited spring
to part from Hades and arise
from the underworld blossom
flora to earthlings jubilation,

Penelope kept her promise
declining suitors twenty years
for Odysseus to return, to her,
eternal wait in the maze

of leisurely time.

Oh time, so rapidly evolving
into a fleeting concept,
from a blessing to a curse, chased
out of fear of losing it, ridiculous

illusions of possession,
for how could anyone ever lose
something that never was
theirs in the first place?

While wait and slowness once were
an intrinsic part of life embraced,
rejected by industrial revolutions
technological progresses two

seconds too many for a message
to travel from Rome to outer space
ricocheted by a satellite
across the ocean to the surface

of a new world, is a wait long enough
to drive any human insane.

Wallowing in rolling under the covers
only very slowly awaking from slumbers,
half way between Morpheus and Aletheia
my eyes were still closed when the first

thought of you crawled into the warmth
of my morning bed. Serendipitous encounter
forged by your last night’s cajoling words,
lured yet reluctant to give in too swiftly

I thwart the voicing of my impulse, convincing
myself that if I wait a little longer
this blazing fever will clemently abate.

As I settle for the amiable embrace of sunbeams.

Keep quite. Listen to the sounds
of unquietable silence, restless air
around you, a million frantic
particles you inhale, heed them as they
penetrate deep inside you.

Follow their course as they enter nasal
cavities to conquer a pass
through your pharynx, caressing
vocal chords, your larynx violins,
gliding to destination through abysses

of trachea plunging, straight into your lungs.
Follow their way back to exhale then focus
beyond. Trail the million frantic particles
their complex parkour as they spread,
within you. Notice the unsilenceable

beat of the mighty ****** pump, tune in
to its rhythm as it releases red
lymph flowing though fragile conduits,
veins, nurturing vital organs, muscles,
bones, flesh. Master the composition

of body fluids playing the sounds
of unquietable silence. Feel
the recurring vibration in your ears
as you swallow, the transparent lubricant
incessantly inundating your mouth.

The bubbly clicks of saliva as it struggles
to prevent your teeth from decaying,
creating enzymes to digest, sustenance
slithering through an open palatine veil
falling down the oesophagus to reach

your stomach. Not in your heart, not in
your brain but there, precisely there
if you concentrate just a little more
will you hear the comeliest voice of all.
It does not speak into your ear, it sings

from within, you perceive it the most
in times of intense happiness or pain, though
it is always there, suave, sublime, divine,
relentlessly murmuring words of wisdom
to the totality of your essence.

The only one who truly loves you, the one
you hear the less, the one trying to tell you,
you are beautiful and perfect as you are.
Jigsaw tabs and pockets of a puzzle portraying
the mesmerising silent mystic figure of a creature,

Whose name is Humanity and frame is the Universe.

We surprise ourselves with the ability to feel
Emotions run so deep in our veins, swallowing
Us into the abysses of irrationality, casting
Us throughout oceans filled with promises,
High hopes and expectations, dreams of wild
Currents tearing us apart, tempests at sea,

Shipwrecks adrift.

Elevated by the nobility we assign to devotion,
Love posing as the commander of the vessel
Without whom the vessel sinks, is not eternal
And sets conditions we must abide by, as mutiny
Is severely reprimanded, punishment resulting
In the atrocities inflicted by his opponent.

Crushed by the humiliation of spontaneous aversion,
Hate passes off as the single solution, the only feeling
Able to replace our inability to love that which we now

Abhor.

Praising silence delusional pagans
interpret perception of finite senses
fabricating concepts outlawed by reality,
as sounds audible and imperceptible

travel through mediums elastic and viscous,
eardrums capture peculiar waves of pressure
whilst bodies distinguish pulsating tremors.
What a prodigy! The auditory privilege

aural ability to hear, billows crashing
on shores, winds blow through crispy leaves
of ancient trees, where enamoured nightingales
sing, mating tunes humans reproduce.

Deepening breaths and sighs, musical
compositions voicing instruments while
vocal chords intone words that bring us closer,
exchange ideas, bequeath stories of verities.

Yet, increasing volumes may disrupt
fragile minds eager to listen, in a society
creating noises of its own to fill the voids
left by melodies unheard, disregarded

to the benefit of klaxons, traffic jams, alarms,
frantic rolling stock, people shouting
offenses, constructors drilling to insanity,
and if you listen carefully, energy stream

through electric wires an incessant hum
to which we are clumsily attuned. Our silence,
all but silent, ridded of the rest we could hear,
eyes bat, air flow gently into our lungs, blood

run through our veins, heart beat to a rhythm,
synapses sparkle thoughts impossible to hush,
internal heat engender emotions, flickering
sensations roar. Seducing silence only purpose,

perceive the entirety of all
the universal melodies unheard.

Leaving the highway for the curvy rural lane
Moonless pitch-black night returning
From Rome to the heart of its green belt.
Where the countryside seduces farmers

With shiny nuggets on primeval trees,
Mediterranean gold, liquid olives
To be harvested and milled.
Up for bids to the greatest connoisseur,

Sabine hills the scenery of ancient Roman wars,
Where oil was not the only ****** to be picked and sold.
Sabine hills the refuge of deserters and the set,
Of my Romeo’s exhale after fixing its spark plug.

My lover at the steering wheel, my brother at the back,
Myself on the passenger seat listening to music
Smoking dreams away. ‘Smells like something’s burning’
A comment from the rear, to which the driver promptly

Responded ‘Your sister just lit a cigarette’.
Temporarily satisfying the doubt,
‘It’s getting hot in here’ was the next remark.
To which the patient answer followed

Blaming me once more. ‘Your sister just turned
the heater on’ And it made sense until
Few minutes later, flames burst out of engines
Glimpsing from the sides of a bonnet melting.

‘Stop and run for your lives!’ the unspoken words
And so I did, looking back only when I reached
A distance to see, my beloved brother attempting
To escape blocked by child safety locks for absent kids.

Turning down the window to jump out,
Dukes of Hazzard style. By the time
The police and fire fighters arrived,
Nothing but the steal incandescent skeleton

Was left of what once was my first car. Paid for
It two years still, until the last instalment
Made me laugh about it ever since.
My brother not so much.

My train is changing colours, turning blue seats red,
green and lilac by sapphire stripes separated still.
Only sparing white walls, and graffiti sliding doors,
marvelled upon entrance my eyes welcomed the gift.

A palpable surprise, for me and all passengers within,
overwhelming feeling, grateful for ideas,
coming into life as I chose to seat on emerald,
while other toy with ruby and end up choosing lolite.

Suddenly…

Heard a distant voice, somewhere in my mind,
found myself complaining a part of me I did not like,
about selected colours, come to think of it a little very dead,
defeating happy purpose as I engaged to blame,

whoever had the idea and the choice he made.

Rampant raging waters clashed,
Breaking waves on rocks supporting
The withstanding lighthouse stage
To its keeper’s disappearance.

Swallowed
By the inclement ocean wetting
Brittany and its last vessel guiding
Beacon.

Muteness creates sounds, warning perils
as hyenas shrewdly approach shelters,
expressing needs of thirst and hunger
when lands run dry and fruits perish,

chanting instincts sparked by seasons
eliciting mating overtures inspired,
drawing pictures on cave walls
to indelibly report, leave a legacy

of human exploits, enduring struggles,
nascent cultures and traditions,
storytelling striving to be faithful
to a truth the only known, evolving

to engender words made of letters
placed in devised orders to confess
thoughts and feelings, exchange concepts
and ideas, bring minds closer to reflect

upon the myriad marvels of a world yet
to be discovered. Eclipses. Crafting caravels
designing maps, recording wonders
encountered in search of an end, a limit

where it all began, keeping Captain’s log
fearing the monsters of the unknown,
tornados and typhoons a presage
of death inducing mortals to call

for mercy upon immortal gods,
fantastically explaining what reason is unable
to decipher. Singing songs to raise moral
until bashing locutions begin to bless

far more than slaps and blades, hanging ropes,
lightning and storms, using them to hurt
with intentions turned malicious, ingenious
communicative talents drowning

in oceans of wickedness and shame, leading
man to regret to have ever invented words
in the first place, leaving me with just one
sound of indwelling grief, a sigh, succumbing

tuning back to muteness.

Incessant musings of you compel me
to cease attempts of drawing our bond
to a close inevitably only reminiscing
your coquettish simper, manic gaze, the depth

of your unhinged voice as you theatrically recited
a brilliant rendition of the divine, Comedy
captivating my awe and admiration, interludes
to endless rounds of battles unilaterally sparked,

by you out of the blue. Instantly silenced as I
never knew when you would start them nor how
to bring quarrels to an end, incapable of finding
rational meaning or a reason for there never were

any other than your debilitating insanity
of which you were tragically aware. Asking for
forgiveness wiping out my tears in those,
rare glimmers of lucidity short lived moments of delight.

I vividly remember myself laughing in your arms,
as you recounted ironic comic versions
of Bible anecdotes. Where Jesus was just another fellow
with whom you sympathised, rhapsodising over

your uncomprehended similarities. Gentle gestures
towards strangers, innate altruism, love
for Earth and Humanity as a whole.
With individuals you appeared to have a problem

as they recurrently rewarded you with a cross.

As a child I struggled many a time
With notions of rights and wrongs,
Searching in the voice of parents
Through approval and scolding
Lessons to identify misconducts.

As an adolescent I began to challenge
Conventional behaviours striving
To find my peers’ admiration, long
Considerations over good and evil
To become someone deserving high regards.

Entering adulthood I withdrew from the gaze
Of others as no one knew who I was and who
I intended to grow into, making my own rules,
Relying on instincts to drive, religious
And philosophical reflections to call mine.

Now that I am half way through I realise
Each and every human being stores
In the depths of its consciousness a truth
No mask can hide and no one can deny.
Keys to the glorification of humankind,

Being faithful to oneself by living
In the light of love, contagiously spreading
The energy of kindness, getting rid of lacerating
Desires of vengeance, retaliations for our own
Frustrations, based on illogical self-contempt.

As I ponder on justice I have ceased to dwell,
Eye for an eye or turn the other cheek,
As the illuminated essence within me
Inevitably resolve to peace. No revenge serves
Any purpose if not that of perpetrating evil

To the detriment of humanity as a whole.

Mr White carried out the crime, it must be so.
Police caught him cleaning blood off his lips and though
He said it came from a last desperate kiss, anchormen
Disagree. TV knows the truth, has given him a life sentence,
Public opinion bets on his guilt, odds are now six to one.

Only he could have free access to the family abode,
Approach Mrs White so close. She must have trusted him
And ignored, he had lost faith in her when he saw, her flaws,
In the arms of an unknown improbable lover, to both
The handsome tennis coach.

He must have premeditated the vengeful actions,
Bought the rope at the grocery store, be it with her
Credit card. He must have obliged her to write the note,
It would explain the shaky scribble she left behind. He must have
Handled the neck loop with gloves, no killer DNA found.

The house is full of his fingerprints, yet it’s his own,
But none on the rope. His tears must be fake, his fright,
Cowardice. Mr White carried out the crime, it must be so.
He must have staged the whole suicidal show, he must
Be guilty, it must be so, prosecution says so.

But do we really know, beyond any reasonable doubt?
What if she had lost faith in him when she saw, his flaws,
In the arms of an unknown improbable lover to both,
The handsome tennis coach? Bought the rope with her own
Credit card, placed the loop around her neck and hung?

When hypnotised eyes only
search for signs in depths of dilated
pupils of he who would be able
to drive you blind;

When courage overtakes you
unafraid and tempted enveloped
by veils of overwhelming heat
craving for inebriated contact;

When all you can think of is his smile,
voice, words, body, and fantasy
imposes his silent presence even
in his roaring absence;

When blistering fire burns
you from inside hindering
breathing panting merely conceiving
his touch on longing skin;

When individuality extinguishes,
ambitions evolving making duty
his happiness afore anything
for his would be yours;

It is impossible to ignore
or deny the devouring feeling
whispering repeatedly to your hungry
stomach ‘You are in love’.

Details shape perspectives killing time
classifying experiences drawing lessons
from the past to live a fleeting
present wrapped up in comfort offered
by the most illusive conviction we are
ensuring a mistakeless future laying

the grounds to understanding.

People hurt others and themselves, a fact,
have and will do so again, might as well
rationalise and take notes, categorise offenses
under text book notions of human psyche.
To pseudo comprehend, believe they surely did
it out jealousy or envy, inferiority complex, greed,

fear of rejection, of commitment, fear
tout court, latent ancient traumas, alcoholism,
loneliness, inadequacy, stress, lack of fantasy,
defence mechanisms, revenge and rage,
frustration, Freudian mums and dads to blame,
poverty, miseducation or in vogue bipolar

mental disorders.

Newly labelled manic depression justifying
the indefensible, falling under the taxonomy
of psychological disease. Victim of one’s mind
or coward in disguise? And if evil be an illness
would it follow that, with no fault comes no crime?
The catalogue complete, what is left a bunch of notes

recorded in the abyssal perplexity of tired
brains, aged bones. A life spent studying flaws
instead of standing in awe in front of All.
While if, zooming out from details to focus
on bigger pictures, homes become nations,
neighbourhoods Earth, individuals Humanity,

the Universe,

partial essence of which we are, traveling
without moving through mysterious space
under mystic laws we call, Natural.
Do they determine who we are? And if,
ridding of the catalogue I am reborn,
a newfound meaning looking far beyond,

to see amazing little creatures stubbornly survive,
to live and endure, prove we are
much more than complexes and fears,
ambitions and diseases, corrupted thoughts,
but a miracle of feelings, eager to learn,
only beginning to become,

aware of itself.

The bold cupola at his summit reflects
neon lights from bulbs above, crowned
by precious thin silver hair, barely cascading
over a wide and wrinkled forehead.

Two dense detached bushy arches linger
to their original dark brown tone, only a few
white brow hairs are longer, magnified by opaque
thick lenses of plastic orange glasses,

resting on a disproportionately big red nose,
outshining round green eyes in venous sclera.
Falling cheeks of sad old dogs, Dumbo ears
hearing only through pale hi-tech gadgets.

Rotten teeth, some lost to empty spaces,
concealed by infolded arid purple lips,
in the midst of an unshaved beard tobacco
stains, where arch crumbs hide in disguise.

A bloated stomach denotes long lasting
faithfulness to a wife married ages before,
a ring castrating a swollen left annular
as he speaks on an archaic phone.

Dressed in an azure shirt meticulously
ironed, beige corduroy trousers, a maroon
jacket on his forearm, a worn out bowler hat
on the counter. I stare at his hunchback.

He stirs his coffee for much longer
than necessary in search of eye contact,
someone physical to talk to, furtively
swallowing a tablet or two gulping water.

Bringing his handkerchief to the mouth to be
proper, he drinks the boiling hot Italian brew,
with an air of surrender as drops inevitably fall
on his nice and shiny polished burgundy shoes.

She did not know,
Or so she thought.
She did not know,
Or so they made her believe.
And believe she did,
They were many,
They had to know.
Temporary doubt
Avoidance of arrogance
Humbleness needed.
Did she have it?
Did they?
To know not to know,
To question.
Eternal dust
Ephemeral shapes
Suggestions.

Reverberating peals resonating thunders
in mind, unsilenceable relentless acute chimes
struck, by hollowing gales unwaveringly carrying
echoes of blemished memories through

the storm, attempting to rescue a forgotten past,
made of laughs and outbursts lost in glasses filled
with tears unshed, by misted eyes weeping only
dry, salted grains of unclear thoughts.

Resounding tinkles of scrambled long
distance calls between, consciousness and will,
conversations repeated over and over, one
speaking truth the other, seductive words

enticing logic with lies even reason struggles
to defy. Mayday ripples in high waters, searching
for flickering beacons, guidance to shore, finding
the strength to blow, dark clouds from the horizon,

switch off lightning and behold, the lighthouse
where unyielding sobriety revels.