‘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.

Though some believed that just as beauty
Space was in the eye of the beholder,
An abstract justification for human experience
Of matter and its motion,

An ancient thinker, by history called the Great,
Asserted with conviction, it simply did not exist.
Nothing was not a concept of nature
Abhorring vacuum, and all agreed.

As nothing came from nothing,
Nothing couldn’t be. Empty space
Out of consciousness’ reach.

Deprived of objects it had no purpose,
For what would its purpose be
If not that of being a place
To contain all that exists?

The mind puzzling game concocted
If space could exist independently of matter
Matter could not exist independently of space,
For where would it be?

So came another thinker questioning
‘Is space something rather than nothing?’
As indeed deprived of the object, undeniably
The place de facto would still exist.

Time passing by replaced thinkers with scientists,
Defining its nature for it to be infinite and absolute,
Existing independently of objects and the mind of the observer,
Observing its balancing force, counteracting that of gravity,

To keep things apart. Dark energy, Energy of space.

Now searching for particles to fill in the voids
To justify the dynamic and expanding quality
Of a Universe which might as well
Be a plenum.

Retracing back the steps to initial perceptions
Of inexistent space for a Cosmos filled
With fundamental particles elegantly orchestrating
The motion of all that ever was, is and will be.

All that exists, a plenum of energy.

Neutrons, protons and electrons compose
The entirety of atoms pervading The All,
Forming bewildering matter, objects and substances,
Ranging from dust to stars, planets, galaxies,
Superclusters, organisms, oxygen and water,
Living creatures.

Neutrons and protons in turn made of quarks,
Elementary particles, indivisible, positively charged.
Deprived of a structure of their own they strongly interact,
To create one and many zillion more.

Never alone always bound
In twos and threes, sparkling composites,
Hadrons at the heart of atomic nuclei.
Quarks making us.

While electrons, together with muons and taus
Only heavier but identical, are leptons,
The most common elementary particles in our world
Offer atoms their chemical properties.

Negatively charged, indivisible, smaller there are none.
Deprived of a structure of their own they weakly interact,
Frantically moving subject to electromagnetic fields.
Leptons making us.

Quarks and Leptons in conclusion
Minuscule nature of our essence shared
With that of all that exists. No wonder,
Everything in dualism persists.

Seeking harmonic balance and elegance,
A cosmos of particles interacting in countless manners
To materialise the entirety of energy in the Universe,
Shaping it with imagination and creativity.

As stars make gold, pressurised carbon diamonds,
Thirty trillion cells a human being, a human being a thought.

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.

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”.

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.

Consciousness finally puts its foot
down dictating, termination of frivolous
stubborn passions, unilaterally composing
wistful notes of lust, curiosity and fantasy
in broadcasted virtual reality.

Sprang from the enigmatic encounter
of a stranger unknown, fascination swiftly
dressed in seemingly harmless obsession,
longing for ethereal inkless words
deprived of nobility, stripped of their paper

suit and orphaned by a faceless
author. No signature or stamp required,
as they evanescently disappear in the gluttony
web of a careless spider, feeding on them as if
they had no value, reminding me indeed

they have lost their worth, the day
they lost their colour. Consciousness
finally puts its foot down, dictating
termination of frivolous stubborn passions as I
trustingly waited for it to do so.

They flow in the meanders of streets and bars,
Warnings by enslaved sugar cane harvesters from afar.
The produce as dangerous as lashes on disobedience,
From sloshed owners of plantations delirious. Tipsy greed.

Known to colonists for driving drinkers mad,
“Le rhum rend fou” they whisper in France, gulping
The brutal inebriating substance of wrong doings,
Turning blind eyes to ancient ports of human trade.

He was a descendent of those who stayed behind,
Only to later emigrate to the Metropole, unwanted
Reminders of ungrateful history. Parents working
Hard to fulfil disillusioned dreams of opportunities.

His amber bottle, his best friend, able to turn white
Sclera red, smiles into raging smears and slurs, be it
Not a swear word, using lexicon to hurt as pupils
Dilate, for looks to stab and offend, cursing blessings.

Easier to be a victim than take responsibility, blaming
All exception made for the precious liquid, bashing
Intentions with statements of futility, projects with
Sentences of failure, as the last drop burns a sore throat.

Fences enclose sweaty trees
of palms, apricots and figs,
while dried-up roses suffer
heat, next to stubborn hortensia
striving, to blossom despite
anomalous murderous drought.

An infant baobab travelled
all the way from Dakar to be
planted in a *** in Rome, while
the fragile bonsai changes
place everyday victim,
of my indecision fearing

a premature death.

Parsley, basil, oregano and thyme
On rosemary’s opposite side,
Emanate odours of culinary
Makings, as a lonely herb grows
In a corner, unfolding potential
Of future rewards, paid in smoke.

Aloe and cactuses evergreen
Surrounded, by dead leaves
Stranded, along the hedge covering
Fertile soil suffocating, possibilities
For emerald grass to raise as I mow
The lawn picking them up to set

cadavers free.

I am double the age I was, in my darkest hour,
When nothing seemed to be, quite right,
When I gazed extensively into the depths
Of my abyssal dark brown eyes, only to fall
Desperately in love with my Self and realise,
No one could ever care for me
As much as I.

I am double the age I was, in my darkest hour,
When nothing seemed to be, quite right,
When I stared neurotically at my surroundings,
Observing my likes, breathing human beings,
Their pain, their strength, their cruelty.
None of it was good enough, for me,
Too much love, too much pain, too much grief.

We were too much, of a marvellous creature
To deserve living in anguish and gloom.

I am double the age I was, in my darkest hour,
When nothing seemed to be, quite right,
When I survived my own death and will,
And decided to love all, as much as I love I.

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.

Hold me while I pretend I am
above it all and do not need
intimacy a caress, the warmth
of a body to heal, the cracked skin

of my independency a shield,
defending the fragile creature
now conceding, to let its guard
down just for tonight, to indulge

in breathing, your scent emotional
rescue of what is left, in me
of normality. Drops of inebriating
salted water exciting, my humanity.

Don’t ask of me else, hold me just
a minute more, oblige me to feel
that tantalising heat invade my being,
delirious fever penetrate from within.

Cover me in tremors, confuse
my rationality in the mist of your exhale,
drive me senseless, hold me back if I
instinctively pull away. Conquer me only

ten seconds still.

Every morning is the same,
I inevitably wake up
With a smile, always mine.
It reminds me of who I am,
Where I’ve been.

The dimples my father loved so
No one sees, except me,
Voluntarily secluded
For them not to vanish
And for Them not to steal them,
Sheltered from unconscious thieves.

Crafted sea sand reflects the depth
Of my pupils, dilating as I approach
The image on myself
While my brown iris get lighter
And I fixate on the red capillaries
Emphasised by lenient time.

Every morning is the same,
Coffee and cigarettes for breakfast
News to keep in touch
With a world They call ‘real’
As I travel in the maze
Of my own.

If ever I step out of my abode
My mane is responsible for my protection,
Thick curls dropping before my eyes
For Them to think I do not see
While indeed I see it all.

Each vibration, humour, anger or pain
Penetrates me like knives
The apple on my head.
The Circus does not amuse me
And I rush to grab my wine
Bring it safe back home.

I live in a Universe immense,
The reason behind my smile.

Some could say she was a multi-ethnic poet, others
Might want to focus on her motherhood to two
Peaceful beings, grown up to become models, of
Honesty, kindness, fairness and dignity.

Her friends toast to her with champagne glasses,
As her father before her, she enjoyed life to the fullest,
Without major extravaganza casting smiles, able to twist
Sorrow into laughter, lighting rooms as she entered.

Her lovers remember her as the sensual essence
Of a woman, so they defined her many a time, though
She’d ignore why. She wore no make-up nor high heel
Shoes, no creams to prevent age from exhibiting itself.

Her tattooist drew the stars on her body, has knowledge
Of the celestial maps engraved with ink by needles,
Yet I am the only one who knows her deeply, in me
She confided, the creative thoughts concealed in her mind.

She was a tenacious human with courageous concepts,
Dictated by inspiring instincts, something she called
Universal consciousness underlining all, that ever
Was, is and will be, throughout special infinity.

She reconnected the dots and spread the word enticing
Those who crossed her passage to feel, the harmony, unite
In common realisation, that we are one with all and nothing
Can support our existence other than love.

I’ll miss her tender lioness features,
Her mane covering eyes elsewhere, as she gazed
Into the abysses in my direction. Faithfully hers forever,
Mac Apple, alias Pro.

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.

The lives we cross unknowing
The green-grass paths they wayfare,
Fables of fays and fiends unspoken
Truths belonging to entities of matter,

Flesh bones a body, rhythmed by breath
A heartbeat, pumps red juices carrying
Cleansing oxygen through tireless veins
To a brain, synapses creating thoughts

Interpreting, nervous sensations only
Tempered by hormonal roller coasters
As we defy, the mystic and attempt
To make sense of our existence beyond

The astonishing complex husk leisurely,
Deteriorating in time as we blow on candles
Grasping indeed there is far more inside,
A microcosm endeavouring to reconcile

With an all-pervasive Universe encompassing
As stars fall before our eyes, chronic sunrise,
Twirling incessantly without ever feeling
Dizzy, dazed by questions sparkling intuitively

As we struggle with the limits of earthly
Confinement, the green-grass paths we wayfare,
Health impediments, mental distortions,
Quarrelling with our fellow adventurers

Our frustrations, neglecting to acknowledge
The fays lifting us up whilst unpredictable
Fiends bid to crush when unexpectedly
Unfathomable interior strength unites

Us through experience a succession
Of collective errors misinterpretations
Aware however that we will endure,
Evolve to reach our highest potentials

For a unique welfare granted to all
Creatures, as we set course into the vastness
Of bewilderment, inexplicable space,
Omnific unfurling home to humanity

And all the breaths within.

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.

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.

Traces of tiredness excavate deep into his skin,
Daily, as I enter with a volatile smile, weekly,
In search of my dose of earthly blood, pretending
I am blind to my perception, neglecting my intuition.

Assumptions lead to consider he’s always had one
Too many, and perhaps something more, should I guess
An alkaloid passing off as his friend, allowing him to keep
Going, beyond his natural forces and strength.

He’s ageing prematurely, worries and silver curls
For taxes and suppliers, a runny nose and a bloated belly,
Four years of activity, complots and conspiracy,
Courting customers who vary, trading loyalty for markdowns.

Experience acquired by the day, market research,
Watching the big shots being relieved, treating debts
By way of mathematical games as he pays
For each and every one of his mistakes.

His little dog assumes his likes, long grey hair
Covering his eyes, not to see, the infamy.
For that particular *** you can only ask Velier,
He sets the price, no bargains, no payables, barely any gain.

On the black market however, other stories are told.
Creative Naples, its entrepreneurs and financial guards
Guide you from depots to highways exchanging farewells
At the tollbooth. Your risk, your gloom, your despair.

The *** in his car boot costs less but is the same,
Same brand, same bottle, same taste, had to pass through Velier.
Nervous as a reluctant crook, his required foxiness impedes
Timid tears from rolling down his cheeks and give in.

As he questions the rules of the illegitimate system,
Cursing those deprived of scruples, dwelling
With notions of honesty and integrity, he too compelled
To evasion to merely survive,

His conclusion resolves in a simple explanation,
“If you are willing to give up morals, honour and passion
You can too attempt to succeed
In the wine bar industry.”

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.

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.

Icy clusters of rocks and dust, leftovers
Of extra matter scattered around a star.
Following the orbit guiding a perpetual run,
For seeing creatures to gaze at midnight skies
In search of glistening shooting lights.

Comets, so named by the ancient man,
Enchant humans to strive and understand,
Beholding their subliming approach to the Sun,
Where radiations and winds melt solids to sparkle
Spews of gas. An aura, a coma and a tail.

Nebulosity inclosing the nucleus confers
On the object a misty glow, distinguishing it
Form a star, hiding water in volatile form.
Tails extending to astronomical units lose
Trails of debris at times, visible to the naked eye.

When finally orbital highways cross,
Meteor showers arise. Debris igniting
As falling stars, enter the atmosphere.
Perseids in August begot by Swift-Tuttle
Comet, Orionids in October by Halley's.

Games of splendour to remind us where
We come from and how it all began.
When antediluvian comets did not shy away
From colliding unswervingly with Earth,
Reach its crust. Inundating the planet with H2O,

For us to be here, witness the show.

Dynamically unveiling an expanding carpet
Of hydrogen particles coalescing to spring
Stars to grow, spin and sparkle, explode
In blinding invisible light, thrusting golden
Debris forming rocky spheres, aligning
To revolve finding balance finely tuning
And allow life to burst and us to see.

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.

I was born in a city and time where and when
things were described by their name in the name
of realism and truth, uncoloured nouns of honesty
depicting society as it was fearing nothing
while no one took offence, as none was intended

in the atmosphere of autocriticism and self-
deprecating humour. In the countryside village
peasants called my father the Greek, as there were
no aliens other than us and the English man
who lived down the valley. Black skins

only existed on TV, and Africa was far more distant
than maps ever suggested. Our Ghanaian origins
were a mesmerising fable to the curious ears
of those willing to imagine exotic airs, indefinite
populations they had never seen. Italians

were used to migrate abroad in search of dreams,
though no one came to dream in Rome until, they did.
First strange faces appeared for myths to become
realities integrating slowly fast-forwarding thirty years
to see, Filipinos housekeepers, cheaper butlers,

Rumanians and Moldavians caregivers to our elders,
Chinese empires beginning with restaurants and shops,
Selling almost anything one could ever think of affordable
to all, now expanding to own bars creating jobs,
employers of impoverished locals and new arrivals.

Bangladeshis taking over once-was Italian grocery cash
and carries working hard, a 24/7 policy just for some.
Those who don’t are found selling umbrellas on the road
a minute before the storm, or taking polaroid pictures
of tourists at night when the gypsies come out

of nomad camps to sell, unscented roses to lovers
unnaturally blue for the day is reserved, to picking
pockets on public transports everybody knows,
signs are put up for those who don’t. Lebanese
hairdressers hiring young Italian girls, eat in Turkish

kebab fast-foods buying halal ingredients in Iraqi stores.
Only blacks in Rome own nothing but their shoes
and reputation. Those from North African countries often deal
on sidewalks for drug addicts playing instruments
sitting next to dogs on Tiber bridges as they beg

for one more dose. Though Egyptians mainly deal
with chefs, closed in restaurant kitchens learning
pizza-making skills, while Pakistanis make excellent
dishwashers. Turning back to blacks Nigerians,
Senegalese, Malians and many more improvise

themselves as clandestine street vendors
of jewels and fake bags, the latter secretly supplied
by Italian mafia-like wannabes. Often spotted running
away from police, packing goods in white sheets, held
on their backs as they flee, leaving fallen merchandise

behind them. Finally some remain unseen, straight
from heart of darkness and surroundings they stay
strictly on TV, passing from satiric sketches of the past
to NGO adverts crying out, for help against famine,
poverty and sickness, calling for action two euros a day

via sms to keep, consciousness clean, as we close
our eyes not to see, pretend we do not know, hiding
behind words we call, politically correct not to face, take
distance from reality and truth, disguise inconvenience
and uncomfort with ridiculously embellished, jargon.

Some exceptions obviously exist, as many manage
to live outside the box, though alas and do not blame me
for speaking the truth, they remain to date exceptions
dear to my heart, as are all the characters of this portrait,
scattered pieces of humanity, pieces of me.

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.

Trembling he entered the bar with a cheerful smile,
In a dark green suit and a Panama hat.
Sun-dried wrinkles on his face and hands
Dotted with brown liver spots, passage of time.

Buttons of his white shirt open to the trunk,
Roman summer at last, a little too scorching for some.
Cherry angiomas glittery red,
Dilated blood vessels showing off his chest.

New freckles he never had and not to be
Confused with his only solitary mole,
Stuck on his lower bluish chapped lip
As he shivers struggling to raise his coffee cup,
To the mouth with both hands for just one sip.

In silence he dribbles and drools succeeding to gulp
Down the last drop, asking for the check
In a broken deep voice, one that has smoked a cigarette
Too many, scratching his drinker’s nose as he wobbles
To the cashier.

Paid and ready to proceed his wallet refuses to fit
Back into his rear pocket.
The frustrating challenge a matter of patience,
To which he inevitably renounces as he surrenders to hold
On to it while he waves his goodbyes to the bartender.

You took me dancing by the harbour
after snow fell the night, covering
sand and sea in white for an instant
mist in my eyes, as we twirled

towards dizziness held
by the heated pressure of your right
hand posed on my back
the seat of my emotions pressed

against your chest, blind
to others the cold
breeze a scorching ray,
hitting violently on pins and needles

skin an awkward sensation,
confusing ice for fire,
strikes for strokes,
your attention for love.

Published yearly reports on global
development, equality and happiness
introduce, reflections of governance,
economy, wealth and well-being

uneven distribution.

Policies, discrepancies, resolutions,
conflicting interests of individuals
and groups interacting on grounds
of power asymmetries leading to failure.

Bargains amongst elites and greater
citizen engagement only keys, to success
defying rise of authoritarian populism,
a recurring nightmare from the past

century, overturning concepts of human
rights protection, jeopardising freedom
impeding equity and justice amongst,
populations untrusting rulers and neighbours.

Loss of faith in institutions, strain
on international cooperation, a species
struggling to live in society and peace.
Lifestyles devastating nature

while consumerism pollutes, air and waters,
toddlers playing with toys neglecting
consequences and repercussions ignoring,
to every effect there is indeed a cause.

Yet, Humanity is precisely that, a two
hundred thousand years old creeping toddler
learning how to walk. Improvements
cannot be overlooked or flouted,

self-commiseration and deploration the vice
of media-nurtured pessimism, populations
addicted to bad news. Guilty I say those indulging
in irrational despair accepting nothing

can be done and that humanity is doomed,
a cancer to our Earth undeserving anything good.

Yet, life expectancy reaches 71 from 32 in 1900,
child mortality halved since I was born, thirty
years for one point one billion people to move
out of extreme poverty, death penalty ruled

illegal in more than half of all countries,
crime rate falling as crime is recognised
as such and prosecuted, **** no longer
an offense against chastity or morality

but a crime against a Person, torture no longer
an acceptable feature of criminal justice,
as general consensus now deplores it,
our outrage proof of our progress, while

300, 000 more people gain access
to electricity each day, 120 democracies
among the world’s 193 countries,
up from just 40 in the seventies.

Looking for renewable energies,
carbon emissions from fossil fuels fail
to rise, new fields are explored, science
posing questions deemed heretic before.

And of course things could be better
and maybe problems could be solved
faster, but when we fail to see the progress
we make we begin, to stop trying.

And that my dearest friend would be,
the greatest natural disaster in history.
So assemble the broken pieces of your courage,
Turn off the news and make change happen.

Happy 2018.

Following the unfollowed
to follow fellow folks, felons
as I, guilty for spending life
hunting followers who may scent
flourishing fables made of fabric
filled with formidable potential.

Zestfully fleeing mafficking faces
futzing in mass lobotomy, quaffing
media fraudulent sloppiness,
fallacy of a system fearing freedom
of free thinkers unchained,
through fault of failing legacies,

Left behind by phantom slaves
and modern enslavers, as confluxes
of frantic consciousness abandon
the flow to fly high the abysses
of the unfathomable unfazed
by the fuzzy foozles of those defusing,

The fragility and clumsiness of jiffy
flickering governors baffling
enlightenment and solidarity, blocking
the path of the unfollowing where flesh
is bygone for fleeting feelings to enflame
future fundamentals,

Essentially shared,
by an evolving united and mirific
mystifying humankind.

When the lonely nutshell decided to blow,
Out of itself malleable creative energy
For space to unfold into endless expansion
Begin the infinite story of a new-born Universe,
It did not cater for symmetry, nor for perfection.

Sparkles and outbursts differentiating
Populations of particles never equal in quantity,
Matter naturally outnumbering antimatter
For something to exist. Blessed imperfection
Consenting the collection of dust, to form bodies.

Celestial. In stars nuclear fusions transform
Hydrogen in new elements, generating oxygen,
Helium, carbon and many more. Attracting
Neighbours to rotate and orbit around them,
Planets courting a light-giving queen, for life to spring.

Settling dominating forces to unify and divide,
Gravity and dark energy for the first to keep
Things together, for the latter to impede
Collisions and implosions. Dynamic evolution
Heading towards unprecedented, stabilisation.

The great scientist determines imperfection
Is what allows you and me, to be. Yet
When finally the nutshell reaches maximum
Entropy, impeccable thermodynamic equilibrium
The game ends. In a Big Freeze.

Where all dies, including stars,
You and me, as it unwillingly attains
Balance and stagnation, motionless
Bodies unable to exchange, heat.
Ceasing existence, in murdering perfection.

Lips, blurred shadows
Before smoky eyes, lashes
Absorbing sweat
Droplets.

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.

Channels I long refused to explore, suspicious
of authenticity prospects, auspicious contacts,
using the web of a poisonous spider, to comply
with society, posting illusions, tweeting whims.

Social circles to flaunt an image, attempting to say
something unheard, as I, unable to scent the body
humours of connecting minds, build a fortress erecting
firewalls of scepticism for a glimpsing human touch,

disguising

in a suit knitted with closeness pretence threads,
between persons separated by oceans, mountains
so high climbers suffocate at their summit, so far
from the ground they are as virtual as this acquaintance.

An encounter with the unknown, for all I know is we both
artfully pen realities to undress the masked and imagine
a nascent bond inspiring these words, out of my mind
and onto the keyboard, just as your words unexpectedly

slithered out of the screen and straight into me.

I pine for you my dear
as I gaze at the horizon
and beyond in search
of signs of your arrival
I wished imminent yet,
skies these days appear
addicted only to cerulean.

Guilty to long for you
solely in your absence
heated by unfaltering
blistering beams, my
barren soils exhale
the last remains of you
in ascending vapours.

Truth is, deprived of you I,
slowly die, inexorably
thirsty for your essence
endlessly suppliant,
exhausted by the wait
as I watch waters run dry.
Mourning fountains.

Lake levels drop and sailers
linger moored no longer
allowed to navigate shallowness,
disoriented fall drowsiness
felt I had to let you know,
I miss you Mister Rain
and yearn for your return.

Yours faithfully, Missus Earth.

Primeval drops concealed
in meteorites cascading
on a coagulating planet
where temperatures dove,

just enough to hoard
the lymph gingerly forming
oceans springing life, birthing
after many million years

of labour humans, hiding
inside their beings composing
their bodies dooming,
them endlessly to need

liquid blue paragons covering
the surface of a rocky sphere,
while only few dare to dig in
deeper. Of the entire treasure only

one percent can quench
the thirst of living creatures yet,
as all diamonds on Earth entice
ignoble notes of greed,

the exchequer is governed
by unfair rulers careless
of the poor, albeit their poverty
is by them imposed.

I spoke words of water
cycles to the kids who walked,
miles with buckets to polluted rivers,
frantically running to place

rusted containers under
sporadic tropical rains. They listened
and looked at me in awe,
uncomprehending why

some had less and some had more.
To date each time I open
the faucets each drop,
reverberates my gratitude

as my skin absorbs, particles
saddened by the unjust
sharing of a gift
given to us by stars.

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.

It has been said many times before, ‘Old
Habits die hard’ and I agree, without
Condemning any of my own, as I begin
Unlatching eyelids, shutters to the real world,

To gentle caresses of sunbeams, furtively tiptoeing
Around the room, invading space, consistently crawling
On my bed, to reach my forehead and grant
A longed-for princely awakening kiss.

My feet touch the floor, a few steps next door,
I cleanse my face with tepid water, always
Appreciatively contemplating the billions years
Old interstellar ice, molecules composing each single drop.

I slowly walk downstairs anticipating the day, prepare
The espresso coffee ***, as I allow the radioman to shower
Me with the latest news I wish to block,
Roll my cigarette and open my precious laptop

Containing me and all my thoughts, a second brain
To register what I forgot. Look about in the meanders
Of a virtual world other than my dreams
And proceed typing words that combined create

Meaning, unleashing imagination, feelings and evanescent
Memories, observing my surroundings, once more asking
Myself why, each time I take a break and lie
By the lake, ants climb over my body.

With life comes death, a beginning
and an end, to all things humans may
perceive, all we see, is born and lives,
then evolves until it dismantles into

disappearance, slowly vanishing beyond
our senses, as if suggesting nothing is
after it has been. Swirling particles
of hydrogen pulled together by a force,

labelled gravity to give, birth to stars.
By the same effect twirling dust and rocks
breed, planets scattered randomly through
a dynamic space expanding from day one.

Once more a beginning. Yet we’ve seen
supernovas and collapsing spheres,
mountains form and trees grow, flowers
blossom, animals reproduce, we multiply,

ourselves having babies if we are lucky
out of love, physical chemistry keeping
humanity alive, for a glimpse of immortality
striving to defy, time. Yet we’ve seen

mountains corrode under conditions,
atmosphere, sunrays, wind, snow and rain,
trees wither, flowers fade, carcasses decay,
into ashes babies grow to old age then pass

away. Everything inducing us to believe
all has, a beginning and an end, that with life
comes death, unable nonetheless,
to convince our spirits of the same.

Intuition proposing a never-ending always
has been, unfolding mystic carpet of bewilderment
and awe, where energy incessantly mutates,
and cannot be created nor destroyed.

We have been taught we’ll grow
Up to love one. The One and only who
Will matter and complement our life,
Bringing meaning to existence, shining light.

Legends, tales, novels, songs,
Cinematography depicting idyllic love,
Affairs where one should rather die
Than live without, pouring responsibilities

Based on expectations.

Words of treason for loving and loved ones,
To comply with monogamous society designed,
To rule and keep control of tormented masses
Reaching for the fable in frustrated non-fulfilment.

It wasn’t always so.

Love did not equate to possession, naturally.
Parents and children did not belong, to each other.
New-borns were raised by communities, broods
Were for all to take care of and of none.

No one owned any one.

Love as an innate instinctive feeling, permeated
Lands and beyond as Universal. Love for humanity,
Its abode, the Universe in all its glory and potential.
Loving every bit of it, as each piece composes the All.

So, in answer to your prayers, my dear One,
On the ethics of love and to keep it alive,
Allow me to gently whisper to your ear my pride,

“Love All and indeed it will last forever,
Limit your love to One, and you will slowly fall,
In a puzzling abyss of anguish you’ll hardly comprehend,
A prison of expectations, quarrels and grief as none

Of the two making one, can ever fulfil
The insatiable void rooted in failure

Of loving All.

Thus embrace humanity, my precious One,
Love each and every one as if they were the only One.
Do not require from them, don’t even ask,
Just give them all you have and expect nothing

In return.

Stand assure my beloved, the Universe will requite,
Pouring love on you so intense, no One
Could ever Do but All. Bringing peace to existence,
As every drop fills the Ocean.”

Infinity in motion.

My dearest friend I retrieved my old
fountain pen today to pour, on canvas
note papers my doubts, feelings
of dire necessity for I, need of you a favour.

I confess I find myself confused, in the mist
of nothingness unable to decipher my scope
at a crossroad blocked, in front of a sign
which says ‘Stop!’ .

Buxom lands enticing with chimeras
on my right, nature’s might sparkling splendours,
colourful vibrations I perceive, notes of purifying
silence echoing the songs of inhabitants untouched,

by mind queries existential enquiries it feels,
beautiful and lonely over there. Then again,

I see buildings reaching for the skies
on my left, lights bright, people frantically in motion,
they seem to have a purpose and a mission,
places to go, things to do, dreams to make come true.

Some of them create oeuvres revealing grandeur it feels,
challenging and crowded over there. Yet ahead,

of me are unfolding sceneries of possibilities awaiting
as I loiter and expect, your card a few words
I beg of you of inspiration but, please hurry my friend
as a line is about to turn into a jam, behind me.

My precious me I received your letter
with affection comprehending qualms.
Do not dwell any longer for your confusion
is unfunded. The nothingness you feel

does not exists all is, perpetually becoming
including us human beings, fragile creatures
uncomprehending the essence of our journey
yet eager to select, a direction giving sense,

of control not of purpose. Though you are
at a crossroad know you are not compelled
to choose, you can have it all by giving up
control, let your spirit lead you where it wills

and bare in mind, to be happy and just all the time.
Treat your likes with kindness and keep smiling,
look forward for what you call “ahead” is only
a matter of perspective. Yours sincerely, me.