Last night I saw a shooting star,
and it made me think of you.
Brilliant white, and trailing light,
against a sky of purple blue.

I wonder if you saw it,
and if it made you think of me.
I wonder if you smiled,
as it burned, and ceased to be.

I wonder if you made a wish,
and what that wish could be.
I know it's wishful thinking,
but did it involve me?

Sorry, I know, I'm just wondering,
you probably missed it anyways.
I'll  still hold on to my wish though,
of long forgotten days...

sitting on the loggia
watching the rain come closer
with thunder and lightening
counting the seconds
     between the flash and the rumbling
enjoying the spectacle
     of brilliant spidery fingers
     illuminating the evening sky
each a different shape
     followed by its own soundblast
the noise of the rain
     growing louder and harsher
     with heaviness
bending the branches of trees
     roses and lilies to the ground

simply fascinating

the turns of life
are many

few of them
we have foreseen or planned

yet somehow we have managed
to survive

to tell a tale
of useful flexibility

and luck

old letters  postcards  color slides
entries in diaries  drafts
of letters maybe never sent
fill boxes after boxes after boxes
left to me by my parents and their ancestors

going through them
I sort out letters  documents certificates
prayer books with scribbles on the margins
school grades  awards  old birthday wishes

of all the photographs I only keep the ones
on which I recognize the faces
those of the strangers I have never known
     and never will
I ditch
together with the many color slides
of mountains I have never climbed
     and never will
and of my parents friends whom I don‘t know
     and never will
with whom they somewhere spent good times

all these were part of my dear parents universe

in my world they mean nothing
have no significance beyond allowing me
to glimpse selected moments of the lives of those
who‘ve come before me and have gone
disappearing quietly
     into the mists of history

leaving blurred views
      as through a frosted window
about their pleasures  loves  anxieties  
catastrophies and tragedies

     enough to tease imagination
     too pale for certainties

hints from the past

Worthless lives
That are burden on earth,
Caught in the cycle
Of death and birth.

Made me wonder
How don't they die,
Realized later,
No different was I.

A beggar I saw,
Body full of disease,
Looking for alms
'give me some food, please'

Broken and shocked I
Thought what can I give,
Greatest thing he had
Was the 'Will to Live'.