You were born in the mist
Of a worldwide ****** war,
Shielded in the town of Oxford
No one would have known,

Who came to light
On a random winter’s day,
And would have studied darkness
To humanity’s bewilderment

And science dismay.

Who could have envisaged
A modest run-of-the-mill boy,
Having troubles reading would pass
From studying clocks and radios

To figure how they work,
To later toy with physics
Identify the laws,
Of a universe beginning

With a silent bang.

A singularity unfolding
Ever-expanding space,
Projecting multiverse odds
Stretching theories of strings,

To unfathomable infinity
Countless possibilities.

I fell upon you by hazard
Listening to your alas robotic voice,
Notions of evanescence and chaos
Information lost forevermore,

In deep mystifying black holes
Only to reach the end,
Of an article explaining
The genius you were recognised

Even when you were wrong.

Sustaining a verity
You humbly would recant,
Thirty years later tell the world
Indeed energy survives and is returned,

To cosmos under a radiation
They now call by your name,
For there are no “eternal prisons”
Not in space nor in your wheelchair.

Your alacrity showed humanity so
By flying in a zero gravity zone,
Defying the physics constraining your body
An endless fervent hope, I dare

Share with you. For one day
To travel space and understand
A theory encompassing all,
Started studying cosmology

All because of you.

Escaping memories I ran
To the setting of beginnings
In search of new encounters
A rescuer, an owner, a gentle

Word. Penn station had evolved
In years with my emotions,
Beguiling decadence lost
To opulence decay.

Pink granite covered in grime,
Glass filtering sunbeams had
Now turned light into grey,
Eerie shadows reflecting

My vanishing intentions,
Dwindling strength,
Waning hope.
The mellifluous cadence

Of alphanumeric flapping metals
That used to sooth me with dreams
Of arrivals and departures
Had been silenced for evermore.

Solari boards swapped
For liquid-crystal displays,
Even people had changed
Flaunting grimaces of disdain,

As they whispered rumours
Of terminal demolishment
To the benefit of a sporting arena
They would call The Garden.

I empathised with the unfluted
Columns of the Roman colonnade,
For I too had been deemed
Obsolete and inefficient,

A wreck no one shall retrieve,
To be suppressed, a panacea
For a collective consciousness
That would rather not see,

Turning blind eyes to me,
To cost-effective identity
Annihilation,
While Bobby freed of me

Won the New York State
Championship
At Poughkeepsie.

Your crooked smile the flower behind
Dumbo ears reflections of light
onto the boldness of your distinctive
gargantuan head, baby looks

one wouldn’t expect, from an imposing
gentle giant like yourself.

Your invitation to stay when everyone
leaves, closing hour, tipsy people ******
into night streets as you turn the key
lock the door behind them. Pub shut.

Bringing bamboo sofas together
improvised imperial king-size beds,
innocent projection In The Mood
For Love on white sheets pined

to the wall, soundtrack to your echoing
heartbeat as I approach, lay my head
on your chest teasing fingers twirling
the soft curly hair surrounding

*******, pretending to follow the plot
suffocating the sound of my deepening
breaths, when resistance loses purpose
and I submit to your hypnotic lips,

hands scoping each other’s worlds
as we unveil slithering tips on soft skins,
yours and mine akin, though you are strong
and I am delicate, movement symbiosis

orchestrated by Umebayashi, a two-piece
jigsaw made of flesh, meticulously moulded
to fit, once forever no space left between
as we fill the voids with steamy exhales

overwhelmed by your power I struggle
to prevent, reason commanding vocal chords
to emit the sound demanding cease, ‘Stop’,
whilst my kernel essentially pleads not to,

an internal duel I refuse to attend, biting
my lip holding you tight protracting time
not to end as I fall, madly into you
and mistakenly confuse your body with mine,

unable to define where you finish
and I begin.

Although you died since,
on occasions I recall.

Why something rather than nothing,
millenary questions mankind dwell
upon whilst witnessing existence
of surroundings, mesmerising

phenomena. Enthralling vibrations
we sense, sparkling myriad colours,
sounds, shaping textures emitting scents,
flavours tingling baffled palates.

Wandering on metamorphosing soils
ceaselessly reflourishing in springs,
celebrated by pagans and mystic believers
the same, for the goddess we call nature is

the only revealing
itself before us with no veils.

Bathing in fresh waters, rivers
streaming from icy mountain tops
to endless oceans of white
salty minerals balancing life,

in the depths of which all began,
cells melding to engender species
of omnific varieties, beguiling entities
curiously exiting to wander lands.

Juicy fruits on branches of rising trees
erecting to shield, shading creatures
from the scorching rays of a brilliant
star, circadian dawning consenting

earthly presence to evolve, for eyes
to rise contemplating space, in time,
notice the sparkling lights
on infinite black canvas, wonder

what they are, mirific excitement
while perceiving a unique
peculiar consciousness encompassing
all that ever was is and will be,

for intuition to question in beguile,
Why something rather than nothing?

Unfold the map of the world and trace
a kaleidoscopic boot-shaped country
rising from the waters lavished by Atlantic
in a multicultural basin at the heart

of a flat globe. The Mediterranean birthed
by the Zanclean deluge, witness of myriad
exoduses intertwining genes to encompass
peninsular cradles of early civilisations,

a medley of ethnicities trading goods
discoveries and ideas on sailing caravels.

Two thousand years later the remnants of
the Roman Empire vote, the democracy
they had co-founded two thousand years
before, on philosophies of justice, equality

and human rights. Power to the people,
lost in the process of history making,
populaces disillusioned and frustrated
at millenary successions of failed rulings

corroborated by corruption and personal
greed of those chosen to represent them.

Today Italians vote anti-establishment
thereby at long last rejecting ideologies
of the past, too old to bare credibility
electing a party set outside the box,

no left right nor centre, victory of populism,
communism and capitalism burned
at stake for their crippling sins albeit
international cold-war renaissance attempts.

Marking the end of the twentieth century
the twenty-first bets on the refreshing breezes
of new tantalising illusions, cuts to public debt,
income of citizenship, youth employment,

tax reductions campaigned to allegedly increase
family spending, for whatever we do we are
all bound by a unique reigning doctrine under
the unified global empire, of consumerism.

They tell me in man
lies the source of evils
as weakness surrenders
to ineluctable lures.

That he pursues aims
of personal interest
out of egocentric greed
prompting justice, inequity.

That he turns blind eyes
to the sufferings of others
unable of compassion as he
steals their earthly blessings.

That he imperturbably drains
natural resources to his gain
careless of consequences
apathetic towards environment.

That in the name of telluric power
he does not hesitate to drop
bombs and fire guns
on discriminated innocents.

Watches his fellow beings die rejoices
for the success of his missions,
Yet I know, that for each
malicious creature there is one.

That preaches good and acts
accordingly, finding strength
in the marvel that is
his own existence.

That appals before ignorance
repels individualism
conceives humanity as one race
believes and strives for equality.

That sees the struggles the tragedy
of the less fortunate born
on lands of war sickness and poverty
lending a hand of empathy.

That cares for his surroundings
cherishing the boons granted
to all living creatures
endeavouring to protect, his world.

That is dismayed by injustice
abhors violence and abuse
engages courage to protest
incessantly crying out, for peace.

Delights gifting strangers smiles
tender looks of presence whispering
brotherly, You are not alone.

A kind word, a loving deed, a revolution.

Countries fabricated
by roaming people drawing
borders behind them,
trails of hostility

to select those who would cross
rims after them, to keep
resources to themselves,
lands of prosperity

on which to build, greed
homes to shield,
newly engendered families
xenophobes,

induced to believe
by governors they are different,
they are better, superior
and ultimately worth

much more, than any stranger
standing on the other side
of imaginary lines, they are barbarians,
unbelonging

to great civilisations, against whom
we need protection,
stealing scientists
left right and centre,

research peddled as development
promising a high from nuclear weapons,
bombs called mothers to adore
campaigning over a grand potency

participating in, an international
mallet-measuring contest
whilst signing accords,
for those who have to keep

and those who don’t
not to aspire, to acquire,
a prize for populations
who have successfully or can

destroy approaching aliens
simply by, pressing the right button
on a joystick suitable for games,
of mass destruction

ten thousand nuclear warheads
ready for use.

Why is it so arduous
for us to believe we are
beguilingly startling
creatures as none?

Whilst we look at others
we call animals and remain,
befuddled by the perfection
of a nature we reclaim,

temporary beings
roaming freely a land
of prosperous marvels
releasing an infinity

of colours, delicate those
of uncountable flowers,
green that of trees
erecting forests of auburn,

as we spectate the dance
of stones raising mountains,
following the streams
sourcing from them,

cascading into rivers
torrents pouring into
shimmering oceans
unfolding to the limits

of our sight,
where water touches the sky
and we stare marvelling,
at sunset giving birth

to myriad stars iridescent
on black canvas.

Why is it so arduous
for us to believe we are
beguilingly startling
creatures as none?

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.

As February departs with promises
of spring abandoning premature buds
yellow on solitary mimosa trees left
to freeze and shiver under the unwanted

caress of Russian buran, sternly gliding
over mounts rivers and valleys to cross
the unsurmountable Urals, past graves
to the defeat of many warriors, undaunted

by obstacles to reach the Italian peninsula,
covering lands and my garden in white
blankets of thick soft snow, suffocating my roses,
teasing my ficuses and palms, wringing

firewood to the disappointment of my chimney,
never as now so appealing, chameleonicly
camouflaging my hoary stray cat, it has deserted
its usual spot, its hammock imbued

turning to a colourful icy sheet of material,
as I coincidentally prepare for my physics
exam on climate change, I bring
to shelter my bonsais and baobabs.