About Goodbyes

Alone,

as I have stood between people when you left

under a single ray of sun and a single snowbell in front of your white house on the hill.

With you,

I knew I was on the side of good, of righteous

and all the other streets I wondered onto afterwards, afraid and out of place, with February thoughts,

I wanted to go home where I knew I’d never find you again.

Returned,

to walk the deepest lines of histories,

on your day, with despair filling up the notes of the unsang songs,

I carried the burden of all the words I didn’t give you on the bed of flowers

That you had made, sewing the years that I’d been away from you.

Aware,

I had felt it before, it covered the steps of people, their laughs, birds and bells and clocks pushing me onwards to the river,

It covered the joy of my new life that you could see from above,

Nevergone,

the sheer silence that covered the world’s voice and eyes and hands,

I had felt it before, the mark of all the years that I’ll sew in a bed of flowers of you being away from me,

the quietest touch caressing old and new windows,

I will feel it again,

The weight,

The happiness,

The bond,

The call,

The eternal,

Presence

of

Absence…

M.

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About the Answer

About the Answer

before there was light, there was Us, wanderers of sands and stories.

when you found me in the dark and tied my Hands to yours with your prayers,

life came rushing, screaming Desperately into my emptiness: here is the Proof!

the Sun rose over Olympus and all your gods Bowed to us, the ones who had Defeated faith

in an Immeasurable heaven made of Victories and stardust;

Past, lost on the streets of the World, crawled on my skin and said: Seal it!

with my Rebirth, I gave the rest of my Days on this earth away, so that, at the end, when I’ll return to the River of purple waves

the image of your Shoulders turning the Skies around in the Blue waters

would be the seed I’ll be allowed to release into the eternal Dark matter

and set it

into

the

Fire

of

 the

Beginning

 

M.

Three

Three

That you’ve been gone from me,

A time without time,

Returned to where there is no night, so that you can show me the light still,

The white albatross of the dark matter that holds everything together,

The eternal galaxy of my pages,

The eyes I have for seeing people’s hands, the way they carry their years on their fingers,

Their deppest stories before their dreams,

Before their eyes.

You went but took none of the joy you taught me,

You, the life of my words and all the words of my life.

M.

About the Rebirth

About the Rebirth

The ocean pushed the shores apart, and left the island of us half way into its Nordic waters.

On the highest peak of its snowy mountains, in the house with a metal window shaped as a rose,

Between the tall endless walls reaching towards the sky where the shivers of the storms grew from under your feet,

You stood alone and naked between the life given white sheets of your pages.

I watched you silently, we both knew the time had come.

Your pen lost a beloved ink tear on the paper and it turned into a bird.

You showed it to me and said it was a mirror.

It flew and sang across the world’s waterfalls,

The song of freedom of being tied to your wrists with the string of ego, awareness and desire.

My journey.

You opened the rose window and told me to follow.

I was once her.

I ran behind it at first, on its notes turned into my words, I sang and wrote

In the same dots that grew together in the song of revival.

I felt a heavy pain on my back,

My wings started growing and with them,

Peace.

I flew above the world for years, and the mirror that was waiting for me back on the island became the clear eyes that guided me above my stories.

With that new cleanness and strength,

On my return,

I wanted to be tied to you and lay with you in the never touched fresh plains of the world.

But there was no more lostness.

Truth was dripping from the branches of the first buds of the fifth season

And I gathered it and drank it and turned darkness into light

Which we used to lit the windows of strangers’ cages while we flew on the streets of the world.

“We are all born to fly, but we must fly alone into what is ours…” was what you said to all of them in a whispered prayer that I knew so well.

As we witnessed birds, thousands of birds singing in the skies

I always, always grabbed your hands in despair of the memory of my moment and my first breath,

The birth of my meaningful wings.

It was then that I loved both life and death to tears because they both meant drowning, flying, dancing above the edge of the purple stars

From where we watched others journeys into their calling.

Yours words were your music and your softest music laid heavily on my eyelids in the second before I woke, When over and over again I dreamt my liveliest poem:

The glowing magical hand of reality on my forehead, the shadows telling the stories from under my eyes,

The Universe’s oldest dream realized only after I had found myself,

The big and only love of a lifetime.

M.

About My Creator

About My Creator

In the beginning, when you crafted me on your wrist, I have walked on thin clear waters outside the blue layer that holds the globe of light,

Suspended into darkness,

Gentle as the silk that lets me sink into you and drown into you, into your mind, the breath of life I needed sleeplessly, desperately

In the seeking, torturing heavenly shadows your eyes carry on their lashes, stories that fall onto your naked skin for which I dive deep into the waters of the journey you had written for me,

The one that hypnotizes me into a delirium of the only golden infinite universe I remember each time you walk under our sun,

A bit longer than the first second, a bit shorter than the whispering frightening thought of us lost between people,

Where I linger on your lines of your shoulders stretching the wings of time into me, pleading to take me back into our solitude

Where I fall into joy, flowing above the spirals of stardust, the neverending ones you have sprinkled with your fingers when you built the world in the middle of the sea

Where I fall asleep on the music of the silver whales taking our story deep into the oceans of the galaxies not known to men,

It is all life, it is all creation, it is all but one word that births the others, When you bring me to life on a storm that the eye has never seen, outside the thin waters,

Where you heal me and seal me into the cosmos I always return to with the same joy I felt when I opened my wings

And was reborn into my seventh life of a scream of poetry on your red wrist,

The lines of the first spark of life

In one word.

Now.

M.

About Abel

About Abel

There are seven spirals leading to the mountain overseeing the ancient untraveled road on the other side of our island.

You took me there on a deserted Sunday morning, while our steps hummed the hymn of wilderness under our pens.

The heavy bells of the white churches sent their echoes to us on the wings of the old seagulls who flew above us in complicity.

When we reached the peak where the road turned into purple sand under our feet,

You said that there was one more story I needed to hear before walking to the forbidden hidden city built on the cliffs whose keys to its gates you had kept buried deep under the cellar of our white house.

The sand stuck to my skin as I laid in silence and listened to your words, they formed the feathers of a fallen angel on my back and we got a little bit older as we cried and laughed and learned with the end, as you always did.

After you kissed me, one kiss for each of my years, you pushed the clouds aside and showed me the sights of the thousands of years and kings who had come before us and left their treasures on the altars of the city whose gates could only be opened with the truth.

We walked on those fragile steps and stood above the sky drowning into the blue waters,

You took out a secret map and showed me the way not known to those who walked the spirals without purpose, without searching for meaning, for words, those who walked their days without a desperate love for freedom,

Like we always did.

We sat above the waves and shapes And waited for the night to cover us before taking the long road into the stars.

We reaches the fortress and you showed me the altar you had built for me, on those late nights you walked in the mountain by yourself and I waited for you with the cold warm breeze of my solitude.

You asked me to put a stone up for each of my loves.

Time descended on my shoulders as I went back into my journeys and happiness and sorrows next to the altar facing the eternal sunrise.

We sat with the Moon and talked in short stories like short prayers, one for each stone,

A smile and a tear for each,

The ones who were gone, the ones who had stayed and the ones who had brought me there on the highest peak of the oldest mountain of Atlantis, over the bluest of waters and our roof,

Into your arms which, when we started walking back, as the sun was rising,

Turned me around and bathed me in the heat of the whispers of my loves and stories who had built me.

I looked at them and held you close

The last of my stones of my new life,

And I cried and laughed and learned with this end, as I always did.

“All of them were lord”

M.