Once upon a time,
there was a turtle
who grew a carapace
for a hundred years
of slowing pace.

In its prudence,
that most mistaken
as enlightenment,
the tortoise often
admonished a bumblebee
hummingbird:

"- All that buzzing
and vivid colours,
do you believe
the honey of life
is for you to sip?"

And the hen,
circling by,
assented,
beaking its hunger
in the dirt.

One day
the tribe elder
crossed their path.
He roasted the chicken,
plumed a hat
with the humming colours
and threw in the fire
the turtle shell
to read futures to be
in its crackles.

Then came an era
of starvation
and men rummaged
the dirt and in misery
many claimed for
holding back the pain.
Painted in vivid red,
the children learned to sing.

In the cold winter greyness, by the whipping leaning willow,
I gently throw my heart in the stream and watch it sink.

Through the waving naked branches, the stuttering wind goes
plunging lullabies in the dormant numbness of the river.

Aside the howling wandering world, the selfmade outcast departs
choosing dissoluteness in the watercoloured light of love.

The river flows hiding its depth, its surface keeps trace of nothing.
In the thick mistiness of life, to impossibly love breathlessly.

the day you thought
it out
i can imagine
it not

but today
no doubt
with words
i play

and on friendship
i am taught
and to this heart of mine
i try to grip

thankful i say
are we for this world
a home in the whirl
of silent frozen cold

mwanamke

mwanamke

birth my dreams
turn my shadow
into firing flash
anoint me in gold

mwanamke
say my name
warm my wings
in the shell
of your hands

emakumea

emakumea

patient grinder
time carer
you grow silence
in the lit wood
in the cradling lull

emakumea
i forget
unaware
i walk ahead
emakumea
you accept to linger

emegtei

emegtei

i am no more
the scout the hunter
i dream of my gold
you throw into the fire
what's left
from your feathers

nārī

nārī

mirror for me
the story of then
be my water flow

nārī
this tide
in your eyes
nārī*
is it
the intangible you

back
for a while
to my home town

a sunny place
cradled by a longing
for an ocean

labyrinthic streets
secretively whispering
memories of bygones

streets are crowded

I walk along
anonymously
ghostly

nowhere to go
nothing to do
wandering

and in the crowd

what a singularity

unknown
unrevealed
restrained
castrated

such a similarity

Like a solemn
blossom,
he makes his appearance,
this hindrance,

in my rooftop,
with a flip-flop,
in cherubic
outfit,
oh so tiny
and limy!

This perplexing
cherubim, mixing
beams and a pigment
from a distant
perfection,
shouts 'action!',
up on my rooftop!

I climb the immense
leather
in my underware
- oh what a brilliance
of a ****
homemade!

I say 'salutations,
in this christmas' occasion!',
he moves backward,
the makeshift,
and then forward,
in his heart a lift,
engorged,
in my beauty scorched!

As his host
I had started a toast
but went speachless
finding him flightless,
for a wingless cherubim
was he...!

But it's Christmas,
so in ranges
we had some oranges
and tequila,
for pain healer.

On my rooftop
as a isthmus,
oh gods of Olympus!,
we hear a pop,
a cackle,
stars as sprinkles
of kringles!
- Oh oh, is it Santa?!
- Oh no, it's my Claus...!