I certainly have the will to get to the bottom of things
To prove myself that I'm able to do it
Certainly someone has to say it
but I don't mind carrying this burden on my shoulders
I don't mind at all.

I've lived so often doubting myself
That at a certain point I told me
If it had been so easy to commit to doubts
It would have been just as easy
to commit to certainties.

I think about small lives, about ants
And about the silence of a moderate existence
The need to be discreet
To ask permission if necessary
But with the pride of knowing where to go.

It's the small beings who have the world in hands
They cover themselves from the rest with breadcrumbs
But not out of shame
But out of pride

The unproven confidence
The one that went unnoticed.

Just a moderate pride of being small
knowing where to go.

Is the loneliest number

One by one
Are the fingers counted

One
Is the puff of air
Softly touching
The tip of my nose

Everything tastes one,
like the first drop





falling on the dry tongue

There is a brunette lady
dancing in a white camping tent

from the outside you would say
that it is not a suitable place for grace

but no one knows that is the palace
of love and fear
where you can feel the heart move
the heart balance

make love with fear
make love with life
And being the fear of making love

no one knows that is the place
where a green labyrinth grows
and a rootless plum tree stands on a checkered floor

wonders what matters
to look for a suitable place

if you drink water in the desert
if black and white chess makes you
a graceless body
In need of giving love
In need of being loved.

Roll and Watching the doves playing.

Roll.
And
Watching the Doves.

In the white camping tent.

If the time
could flow
The thought of you
would wash away

And who knows why
I want to look far ahead
Cause this is how you cure a lovesickness
Cause that's how it stops hurting
Yet I feel defeated
Yet I feel like I'm losing everything
Yet I feel like I'm losing nothing

If time could pass
I could be next to you

I often stand under the trees,
Waiting for the myrtle to fall
like drops on the mouth.

I feel the earth talking under my back
unveil secrets of other worlds
It keeps silent about a City, which is under the backbone
It is being built with drills and picks.
The ear rests, weightlessly, on the ground
to feel the sweat slide down your forehead
and fill up with the din of the miners
until all the walls of the body have been touched by its echo.
Up to the point of touching the din of the tips and pickaxes.
Rests.

The green of the stems twines around the fingers
and there they remain, too
watching the myrtle fall,
sewn to the earth.

I let emerge placid purple velvet leaves,
from the clothes.

I watch the myrtle fall
And the light filtered by the flowering trees
berry after berry, pierce the veil.

the source of my love
is the same one that it takes me away from you

but it's too close
and I feel it alive
It bounces in all walls of my body

The anemic little girl makes the mannequins blush
she fills her pockets with books
to tear herself away from fake tenderness
from flower lovers

she jumps from hat to hat
and with magic tricks disappears

there's no caustic world
no poison that can pollute the blood
she knows where she doesn't want to stay


to protect herself
     from The All Same