Life goes by, and the years
inlay the skin.
They chisel the perennial spells
that never depart from the soul.
They carve,
between the wrinkles of the night,
my future,
framed in seconds, barely punctuated.
The mind soars
on the mountain of memories and emotions
I feel like re-reading.
And so, fade away the motionless hands of the clock.
I don't know whether to be afraid of time
precisely because it has stopped.
Just a doubt:
Is it good, or is it wrong?
An alien kaleidoscope
projects your eyes into the sky,
into a dimensionless mysticism,
where every fantasy reverberates
among the wreckage of time.
Your image glistens
among the quiet salty smell of the sea,
and is thaumaturgical elixir
a root that becomes
majestic redwood.
It is cold tonight.
The wind has already frosted
the hill in front of our balcony.
That balcony from where,
hand in hand,
we listened to the pulsing
of the heart of the night.
An arcane yearning,
with machete blows,
creeps into the mind.
It creates openings to a feeble melopoeia,
among the meanderings of my bewildered heart,
while a melancholy whisper,
without a compass,
wanders in an unknown world.
I am the wandering avatar
of an alien monad,
and I attempt to dispel the ordeals
of my Karman,
while it cloaks my memories.
It is leaden autumn,
and a newly blooming thunderstorm,
fragrant,
impetuous,
tears away every remnant of life
from my meadow
and also, every gasp of the soul.
My soul is now drowning
in the painkilling Lète,
the river of the extinct memories.
The torment blossoms again,
and with it, a piercing pain
that undermines the heart,
with the afflatus of a mellifluous caress,
of a paradoxical gasp of life.
Devoid of patterns,
of rules,
I let myself go
to a somnolent chimera
that unfolds its wings
among the contours of the night.
The pain suddenly
turns into joy.
I sense a universe of love
in the heart,
as my eyes
enjoy the nocturnal creation
that paints your face,
tonight, more intense,
sweeter,
more authentic than ever before.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Mauro Montacchiesi.
Published on e-Stories.org on 08.06.2013.
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