Don’t have anything more to prove.
No more fighting, no more battle.
I’ll just wait and see what comes next.

How many questions I have asked,
How many times I stood back up
To please myself, others, and God.

An endless and desperate search
For the paradox of a perfection
Belonging only to the Creator.

And guilt returns, right on time,
To pluck the strings of soul and reason.

Now the greatest challenge is
To stop the instant, live the moment.
To learn the grace of contentment.

But as an eternal malcontent,
I seek a chisel to carve
Peace into the rippling wave
Of a soul in storm.

Not a smile,
Only dismay at yet another
Wretched day
Spent serving ambition
And the god Money.
Smoke and alcohol to ease
The pain of withered lives
Awaiting the final meeting.
Someone else will reap
The fruits of your legacy.
Will it be enough to make them happy?
And I recall
The smile of that man,
Empty in his pockets
But with a heart overflowing.

And now? Who knows…

Protected by the shell of home
You listen to the devil’s flattery:
“Don’t go out, stay in bed!”
But the voice of the spirit
Urges you to act.
You get dressed and run outside,
Ready to face the new day
And its traps.
You come back home content:
“I made it through today, too.”
Life has given you a recharge.
Don’t stop, don’t look for
An easy shelter where
You can only find false Peace.
And you think back to sin.
If your senses are five,
Don’t offend those who envy you
For what nature denied them.
In cemeteries echoes day and night
The deepest cry of all: “I could have.”

The soul of commerce?
No; commerce of the soul.

Archives of expenses,
Calculated savings,
Chases after dreams.

Suddenly
Everything stops.
And the breathlessness melts away
In the face of the unknown.

The anguish slips out of my body
As my fingers glide over the keyboard
Of my guitar.
The music arrives to heal
Your sick body,
It arrives to soothe the pain of the mind.
A unison with God
That resolves fears,
A continuous prayer
Among the highs and lows
Of perfect notes.
The strings vibrate,
And my soul vibrates.
I dissolve into the moment.

A bee taps at the windowpane;
nature calling, calm and plain.
A world grown blind, in vain.

You cannot grasp it with your hand,
yet in your heart, it makes its stand.
It comes like lightning through the night,
then lingers quietly in your sight.
When weak, it lets in seeds of doubt;
when strong, it turns the battle out.
For it, so many met their end;
for it, the Saints began to ascend.
It lifts the poor in deep despair,
and haunts the rich with empty care.
On your last day, it holds you tight;
was it all worth the steadfast fight?
Only if we wake once more,
will we know what faith was for.

Today is my last day.
Even if tomorrow I wake up.
I no longer remember anything from yesterday.

I’ve crossed the borders, seen and veiled,

to flee the sin where sloth prevailed.

I tied myself to life’s high mast,

“to follow virtue, knowledge vast.”

Was it worth the storms I braved?

I yield to silence, judgment saved.

But no: “to drown is not so sweet”

in seas where hope and sorrow meet.

To a friend, a secret you may share,

with laughs and truths beyond compare.

In times of need, they’ll hear your call,

in dreams and life, they give their all.



A friend will give, yet never claim,

they’re always near, not playing games.

They won’t sit back when you’re in pain,

they reach right out through sun or rain.



If guidance is what you require,

a friend’s the one whom you’ll admire.

And if good fortune comes their way,

no envy drives your bond astray.



In a world that chases wealth and show,

we often miss what truths bestow.

But don’t forget what sages know:

a friend is treasure’s truest glow.

Keep well in mind
all secret codes.
Memory
is the safest vault.
Losing it would mean
wandering anonymously
in the limbo of the insignificant.
I too have an access code for everything.
But no one ever revealed to me
the one for your soul.
Nor ever will.

For the first time,
I feel the same emotion
others felt before.
A thought finds me
and makes me lost.
Each day I abort
the violence of vile deeds.

Every day, at the same hour,
a train passed to bring me joy.
But from today I am sad.
No train will pass anymore:
I have become a dead track.

You stick
to the wrinkled walls
of the building where you serve
Adam's sentence
yellowed family photos
or dearest memories,
perishable witnesses
of your humanity.

The swaying veil of words
does not let shine through,
to you I speak to,
the hidden force
of other, more important ones
that burst from me,
breaking into thoughts.

Condemned to cancel
in the moment
the in-between spaces.
Questions dissolved
and never resolved
by daily context:
actions are wax
to their siren songs.

From your death, Adam,
the deaths: nuggets lying
in the river of wisdom,
or gold leaf dust.
Like memories in the unconscious,
to the incandescent magma
of ancestral deaths,
the most recent one fuses.

Scruple
etches structures
into the alabaster of imagination,
and weaves the scarlet threads of the curtain
beyond which we are not allowed to peek.

No swaddling,
but straight into a corroded armor,
to be filled with deeds
etched by the Devil's engraver.
Thoughts that offend
grow out of proportion,
like stalactites
fed by infected drops
on walls of decay.
An incessant interference
dissolves continuity.

Experts of life for life.

We stand, stunned,
spectators of the Void.
Then, the echo of inane chatter
bounces, alien, off the walls
that shield a wealth.
But it's always confusion
that plants the flag of its arrogance
on the scorched desert of uncertainty.
And hope only serves to prostrate.

In the pauses of life,
you reflect on life.
And like insects with poisoned stingers,
thoughts and people pierce you.

Two castles,
with drawbridges always down
over moats of Nothing.

Riding the escalator, alone,
they reunite.
A moment of peace;
in the general commotion, a unique one.
The ride ends: scattering once more.

I remove stones, slowly,
from the rocky ground of my memory.

I detach thorns, one by one,
from the rose of my life.

I dry tears,
that slide, laughing,
down the slide
of a playground.

I gather the seed,
slammed against
the wall of a blind alley,
and give it sight again.

I rejoice at the dream
of still knowing myself intact
and being able to see you again,
outside the frozen lake.

I see the world
and discover myself a grain of sand,
wanting to blend into the beach,
with the others.

Then,
I mix it all
in the tank of tomorrow,
and wait.