it happened in an instant
like an eternity of wonder crushed by a wink
night is a prophet, I often think, for better or worse
with its truth of immensity, its molecules of light  and
dreams' oscillation. there are nights and nights
when I feel the ripples of spacetime moving with the speed of desire

some poems are unreadable since I taste the power of words
biology dreams of giving herself to waterfalls in an embrace
chemistry can be caught dreaming to break the symmetry
of its isomorphic structures
physics refuses to disentangle the fields, the particles from their resonant selves
a tender savage disposition is collapsing time, is playing hide and seek
an Irish band sing for someone

my knees feel the earth, the dreams of tundra
I am still myself when my mind is shattered
there is love, there is death in the centre of something
indescribable

We are not yet ready—intellectually, philosophically,
or morally—for the world we are creating. In the next few decades,
old ways of thinking that have served us well for hundreds, even
thousands, of years, will be called into question. New debates, controversies, movements, and ideologies will come to the fore. Some
of our most deeply held assumptions will be revised or abandoned
altogether. Together we will need to re-imagine what it means to
be free or equal, what it means to have power or property, and even
what it means for a political system to be democratic.

Jamie Susskind, from Future Politics Living together in a world transformed by tech

this time was that time, perhaps
your fingers smell of orange peels, of Babel
I didn't  dream of a white Christmas
Alexa played december songs
that pierced through my heart,
a distant thunder she became,
the countdown of a little miracle.
a day to lighten up the ancient symbols
to keep you close in innocently round
tears

the soul of joy grows in circles
it glitters in children's cheeks
singing together washes away
the momentum of nonsense
I contemplate the unknown,
the right proportion of light of darkness
their breath kept in balance,
the golden harvest of hearts,
of hours
the fir tree gives away
some scent, some wonder

Merry Christmas

monsters unleashed I fear
light might freeze on our faces
and what a rush to be generous
an eden of objects, a living emptiness
all in the name of christmas
merciless the geopolitics of hatred
this is not a poem but sheer rage
when streets explode under our feet
exhausted by words turned into death sentences

I could end where you begin
Kerala Dust

some mornings there is a dawn in me
and there I begin, I look at things
and they don't look back
I rehearse your name with different whispers as if
I rehearse the pulse or a pirouette of silence
You give birth to I, I give birth to you, a strange happening
some mornings  I disappear into a satin breeze that carries my almost thoughts
that's how I call your name, my almost thought, only the body knows
there is a fresh dawn and there I begin

a world in motion and who would,
who could guess the next rhyme
bliss, hope, and horror
tyrants falling, resisting, raising
fresh terror in sheep's clothing
these are mental wars, fake news tsunamis
feasting in our blood in our sweat in our tension
the invaders possess our minds, our souls
these are reality games, the most dangerous
who cares about facts or consensual reality
humiliation, helplessness, loneliness
manipulated in the transition between nothingness to utopia
an acid destroying the human form and social body
they can feel again after a long apathy the call to heroic action
let's not be afraid, the tyrant is inside and we kind of know it
I look at the face of nothingness, of dread
no power no reason no words
dread is alive too