Know thyself

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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.

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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.

Trap me!

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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 Fortuneteller

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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

Mid-Night Lovers

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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.

In the last second of your love

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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.

Welcome back my dear pain!

 

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 pass

 

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…

 

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Photo credit: pixabay.com

The ladder of your soul

 

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!

Autumn with Michelangelo Buonarroti

 

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.

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“Buonarroti” as in  “Michelangelo Buonarroti.”

Image of the Original Sin by Michelangelo Buonarroti (fragment).