the rising of the sun is extremely beautiful
the beginning, of what is, the rest of your life
will you make a difference

Brian Hill - 2020 # 246

Like breeze caressing in its
trap a feather grey in air’s
flight so have I
been caught
in un fulmine dei pensieri di
appena circa una dozzina
di minuti
fa.

And I have to most urgently
capture Me in this
flight and non-tormenting
air bubbles coming
out of my watery
&
treelike sight
by
breathing this moment
of realisation
gently
yet hard/strongly
while I’m at it,
at Shepherd’s meaning
of Treasure in
Coelho’s work cast
especially on me
& my antics of Now.

And that letter
here to be
shall be
lost
for a moment under
that pencil:
scribbling on sun-scorched
plane passing,
logophilia
and greater future to come
and
be
done.

For when you
finally
drink from a little bit
of Life itself in
you without any stimuli
foreign to you,
you’ll see that
It
is it that’s the most feverish
in what’s the best,
the sufficing binge.

I’m giving into
your hands this
redemption of mine till
I
AM,
for currently it
is the biggest truth
given to me
by
Allah.

I sense these Signs
as they find each other on Me,
like they make me insert
all the answers,
intentions,
with a hard semblance
and the durability
of the terrace wood
against my worked up skin,
in my lungs.

To where will my Own Legend
lead me?
There are certain
premonition
and in-depth
in this moment,
in the castle of the epilogue,
of the book,
in crystal blue,

in how all the world now
persists in my head
desiring to leave
a trace somewhere here
so as not to let go
of my hand
from its.

And the Sun
that parts almost at
dusk through
a hollow in the clouds
stormy-like
behind my back
seems to be winking, glance throwing,
of a foreboding,
of its presence,
waning,
on what will be able
to come.
And it’s gone.

And how Pueyo would say it:
“May no one deprive
me of living.”
I say it to all the pop culture,
and these false suns
“I’m not yours to take”
as much as I can.

And should we not listen
to understand
instead of
to reply?
Aren’t constant thoughts
that replying,
and pure being that
taking in (all the striving),
like when facing forest
in a
cold
prickling
air
to encounter?

Hold me like that,
that as I am,
in your hands
for a while.

You are like a deep breath
After spending years gasping for air
You are the brightest of days
After weathering months of storms
You are peace after a seemingly never ending war

But you’re not the air I breathe
I can do that on my own
But how nice is it to know that your breath can be synonymous with my own
To know this is ours to share

.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
life
it’s daughter love
and all the
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀waters
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀stars
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀earths­
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
is
like a
bowl of flint⠀⠀ it has been like this
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀still
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀quiet
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀­⠀⠀⠀⠀haunched
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
waiting on nimble fingers
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀

a city that sleeps,
that coos, that cries,
that holds me with no rain;
the tiptoe treasures
and my trying-too-hard-to-smile-eyes-
there is always time, always
reflection, always melancholy,
but I'm reminded that nothing
is always. because always always
ends. and everything always
always begins.

One lie can change a hundred truths,
and that lie leads to a hundred more.

A kingdom built with what appeared to be solid rocks, turned out to be just sand.

All blown away when the storm hit.

The storm you created, as an excuse to leave.

Sand running through my fingers, mixed with all the lies.

I'm staring at the big pile of sand that used to be our life.

I dug for weeks, for truth and reasons.

The truth hit harder than the lies.

With time I stopped digging, there's no point.

I already had the truth.

I said my farewells to you in that pile of toxic sand and I left.

To follow a new path, my path.

The one no one's ever walked before me.

I follow my truth on my unknown journey,
I know it'll lead me to my destiny.

I keep walking, to a bright future.

For me.

it was never the beginnings which frightened me
nor the ends (they were almost a breath of fresh air)

it was the middle
the chaos and the panic
the uncertainty and the fear

the idea that this could be forever, or no longer, or sometime, or tomorrow

the middle with the lull
the dull, the calm
the quiet, the serene

i am waiting for the other shoe to drop

a pebble in the ocean, you barely hear it
but it falls all the same

the middle with the muddy puddles
the light rain
the thunderstorm
waiting

the beginnings- the light
the end- the dark
the in-between - muggy, opaque,

anything could happen.