I Like Christmas

I like Christmas in shadows of white,
When trees and people are happy and bright,
Fighting the wind, fighting the sorrow,
They live the moment and embrace the tomorrow.

I like Christmas, the smell of white pine,
How globs and odors in a bottle of wine,
Filling the space, filling the time,
They touch the soul and easy the mind.

I like Christmas in the light of a candle,
With thought and heart gloomy and rebel,
Singing a carol, singing of joy,
They ride the time full of enjoy.

I like Christmas, the snowflakes in spin,
While on clothes and rounding of skin,
Hugging the people, hugging the earth,
They clear the air and soul for rebirth.

I Better Be...

I better be a butterfly
And hang around from earth to sky,
To live two lives and be transformed,
Go beyond shape and form.

I better be a humble mind
And have with me the love I find,
To live the state of not being blind,
Go beyond common and bind.

I better be the man of ought
And live abound from form and thought,
To live a time of noble fought,
Go beyond alpha and yot.

He

He never trusted somebody, he never trusted even himself, and not because he didn’t wanted or could, just because people told him not to do that. Waking up each morning and looking in the mirror was nothing special, automatic shaving, automatic dressing, everything was an automatism for him. He never had somebody to love, and there so many “never” that he can portrait in his mind. He actually was thinking if he ever hoped something – did he? It was late in the night, the ceiling was white and so emptied of everything, same as him, same as his life. At the same moment he realized that he wanted something, but he didn’t knew what! Maybe he just wanted that one of the days passing over to be different, to feel something special, to be something special, to meet somebody special. He was thinking at the people he met, people that might be that somebody special, though none of them stirred up any feeling, any slightest emotion.

Staying in bed up all night, his eyes were measuring the ceiling, he knew already each inch, each non-uniformity, though he still haven’t found out the slightest idea how he could change something. The hours were passing, the sunrise already gone, then the lunch and the evening. No call the whole day, no knock in the door, no other event, just the empty walls.

Late in the evening, he finally slept but he was feeling he’s still awake, he could see in his mind the whole room, the moon crossing the sky in its way to nowhere, he could feel his breath calm and quiet, like he wasn’t breathing at all. Maybe he’s already dead, just a thought, but it’s unlikely, he still feels how his blood is circulating though veins. Maybe is just an illusion… He managed to sleep a couple of hours, his mind rambling excessively, questions coming and going, answers without questions, questions without answers. and suddenly everything stopped, like the time was hanging somewhere, like nothing ever existed at all, all space being just a dark still blue.

He remained like this for something that looked like an eternity, when out of a sudden from each corner of the unknown a strange music erupted steadily, like the asters were shouting their song. The music looked so strange but in the same time so familiar, and he was sure he never heard it before! The blue started to vibrate, waves of blue were flying synchronously around him, in something that looked at the beginning so chaotic but so full of forms; with time he could see the patterns and intuit when they will change, when something new will come into existence.

A ball of light appeared inside of his mind, tried to grab it and felt its electrical form, a slight pulsation, and another one. The ball increased its size conquering each corner of his mind, and then of his being, he became the ball and the ball became him. He was not anymore him!

Dreams of home

The wind touches the snow as if it were an old friend, it caresses heavens’ messengers, welcoming them again on the land of men. You can hear the woods screaming in the midst of winter, the branches crackling their song perfected over the years, still wearing the exertion of a beginner; a kind of sound of violin crumbled in incommensurable voices, dissonant in individuality but enjoyable in ensemble. By lowering the ear in the snow you can here the steps of small creatures measuring the unknown space in the search of known. It’s a kind of stillness, it has its sorrow and beauty, not describable by thought of men. The moon sounds its solitude between minuscule shy appearances, its smile is icy, its colour pale, its voice reverberating.

The bush of roses, once painted in green and red, now just a shadow of what it used to be, knocks in the window for clemency, willing to be invited inside, to taste a sip of fire, the old devout whose shadows try to embody a secular fight between life and death. I can watch this dance for hours, listening wood’s praying of on his way to its heaven, measuring its rhythm by the measure of my breath, of memories and dreams. How many of those dreams have gone with the winter, how many with the summer, how many are drowse folded in snow, and how many still care with them a spark of hope? This only the time will tell, be it winter or summer, autumn or spring! After winter comes the spring, it’s the law of nature; some of its creatures don’t make it till then, though those who make it become more powerful and more alive.

About a Smile

That smile of sweetness hit the eye
As a kind remembrance of cherry pie,
A sound of beauty in a wink
More than mind and heart can think.

You scent the air as hypnotized,
With every blink dehumanised -
The words just stop, no strain of move,
Just bits of love falling in groove.

You watch her beauty, make it grow,
A blush aroused in the white snow;
You wonder if so much grace
Is just illusion - it's not the case...

Sounds of beauty, words of silence -
Stillness in a grasp of puissance;
Energies unleashed by heaven
To fulfil the dream of men.