Know thyself, and you will know why shadows
Are making love on empty walls,
And you will understand why summer
It’s always under autumn’s thrall.
Know thyself, and you will understand forever
Why footsteps haunt you in the dark
Why tears flow on mystic faces
And why Noah strived to build an ark.
Know thyself, and you will know the world
The nothingness from which was born
The silence in the land of Eleusis
While harvesting the ear of the corn.
Reference to the Eleusinian Mysteries of ancient Greece, which included the ritual of “an ear of corn cut in silence.” It is believed that this ritual symbolized the birth of a new life.
Please, trap me in the rhythms of the Flamenco
Whose sounds invade the nights of Southern Spain
To breathe the notes of the guitars which play,
And, fill the lustrous eyes with burning pain.
And trap me in the Florence of my dreams
To walk with Leonardo in its streets
To verse in Greek, and cry with the Madonna
When the last word of Christ forever speaks.
And trap me in a Hindu monastery
In splendid nights my sufferings unpacked
And in the shadow of Mandala
Give me the power never to come back.
First published in The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch
The night that you’ll return to me
I’ll tame the lights and dress in mystic veils
The sandalwood incense will fill the room
And I will start to murmur sacred tales.
I’ll touch your forehead with my hands
Perfume your skin with darken violet dreams
My tarot cards on my rose wooden desk
Will make you fall in deep, phantasmal streams.
The Queen of Battles will recoil
The Knight of Spades will charge ahead
And you will find yourself entrapped
Into the Wheel of Life’s thin thread.
You’ll feel the pain evaporating from your heart
You’ll see the joy into my eyes amassed
And you will understand that you can fight
Because the future is just past.
Photo Credit: Diviner-predicting-the-future-with-a crystal-ball at shutterstock.com
How many mid-nights
Did we spend together
Watching Eros playing dice?
How many mid-nights
Did we pantomime the echoes
Of the Verona lovers’ cries?
And tell me now because you love me
How many mid-nights will we spend
Immersed in scintillating moons
And poisoned by the jasmine scent?
Painter: Constantin Canache. The work belongs to the author of this blog.
Give me the echoes of the steps
Walking solemnly through the corridors of heart
In the last autumn of your love
Give me the magic of the Tarot card.
Give me the boat which never leaves the shore
Give me the wisdom of a Buddhist monk
In the last minute of your love
The desperation of the hopes which sunk.
Give me the scent of the ethereal kiss
Give me the glamour hidden in piano keys
In the last second of your love
Give me the majesty of tropic trees.
She came into my room last night
Ascending from the past, prepared to bite.
I looked at her, and then I said:
Oh, welcome back my dear pain
I’ll throw at you with all I can!
I’ll hit you in the head with David’s stone
And hammer nails into your bones!
I’ll stick a Viking arrow in your heart
And poison your disgusting tart!
I’ll cut your tentacles with Turkish knives
And take away your hateful lives!
Still alive? Well, then…
I’ll versify to you, my dear pain
Until I’ll make you go insane!
When Dia de Muertos will come
Red candles will flicker and glow
The spirits will come from above
In Dia de Muertos the tears will flow.
The sugar skulls will decorate the altars
Gold marigolds will dream of being white
Food resting in alembicated platters
Will spread aromas in the Aztec night.
When Dia de Muertos will pass
Bell churches will swing in the air
My fervent hands will touch your skin
And occult passions once again will flare
When Dia de Muertos will pass…
Photo credit: pixabay.com
They sell you clothes
They sell you shoes
They sell you banal dreams.
They sell you oils
They sell you cars
They sell political regimes.
They sell whatever, and you buy
They drain your soul
They kill your dreams
And, they deny.
Come back to you
And climb solemnly
The ladder of your soul
And then you’ll understand in silence
That you’re not them
You are much more!
And I remained
Behind the veil of memories.
And you remained
Engulfed in autumn’s reveries.
And that was all
A lovers’ summary.
Don’t knock into my door, just enter,
You, duchess of the tired souls,
You, autumn dressed in ochre gown
Tell me the story of the Fall.
Adam and Eve, without the leaf?
I heard that one too many times!
And anyway you cannot tell it
As Buonarroti said it once.
“Buonarroti” as in “Michelangelo Buonarroti.”
Image of the Original Sin by Michelangelo Buonarroti (fragment).