reflections....

Why do I find so hard to tell people I like them, or something they do? From the smallest compliment to declaration of love, every time I try to open my heart and then.... silence. I just cannot do it..why??

have we been conditioned to hate ?

a poem by rupi kaur

we all move forward when
we recognise how resilient
and striking the women
around us are

A la vuelta de China

Non e' certo per fare foto che si viaggia.
E' per sentire questa cosa nel cuore, questa sensazione che qualcosa, dentro di noi, e' cambiato.


(un paio di foto le condivido, pero'!)

Non scrivo su questo blog da mesi.

Le cose sono cambiate, dentro e fuori.

E' cambiata la mia vita: le feste l'alcool e tutto il resto sono stati poco a poco rimpiazzati dalle mie piante, dallo yoga, dal pane fatto in casa e gli olii essenziali.

Un essere sempre in mutamento.

Ho fatto un incidente che, per quanto piccolo possa essere stato, mi ha fatto pensare

Ed anche la mia creativita' sta assumendo nuove forme, scrivo meno, molto meno. Non so se e' perche' non ne ho il tempo, o se ho bisogno di prendere le distanze e magari creare un nuovo stile, qualcosa con meno "blood and coffins" per citare Roddy Lumsden.

Vedro', per ora cerco di non farmi prendere dal panico, la poesia e' il percorso di una vita, quindi ne accetto tanto le vette quanto gli abissi.

Nel frattempo, penso e respiro.

Namaste

Sunshine

Joanna the Mad

You’d been purification after all that mucus-

dressed in white and pale blue I still don’t know

if you were the Madonna or Pinocchio’s Blue-haired Fairy.

The salt on the ground, the ice melting, you lying in wait

tearing you soul with bites

tying your hair with nettles.

You bathed in idolatry smiling, thinking

maybe I’ll get somewhere at the end of this tempest, maybe

they’ll blow their trumpets at my return, salutes after the battle, horn in the hand and sung out hymn.

You kept combing your hair with feathers and picked up the leftovers. I would talk and ask what will

            become of the observants?

Your answer He will certainly be unduly occupied. Call the maid, I need more milk for soaking.

Then you would lay down, in silence. What

a marvel your puzzled eyes buried in cotton.

I dreamt of you wandering downstream. I screamed your name but

you didn’t stop and I was afraid to lose you until

I saw a light.

It’s me, I’m back whispered a voice. 

Flashback

They say when you are about to die                                                                you can see your entire life

I can see everything        the GP a couple of years ago       trains yelling         the warmth of your thighs.

Persimmons are the silence of my childhood                                               lychees the placenta of a cat.

                                           A couple of weeks ago I went to a Chinese restaurant with my friend Rubén

they gave us a fortune cookie         mine said you cannot go back go forward            lachrymose ending.

It was a tepid autumn                                                            the year in which we met for the first time.

November 9th winter started.        No lambs in the meadows but enough pathos to keep me hypnotized.

I sought words for roots            swore on that God I don’t believe in                that I’d write every day.

It doesn’t hurt as it used to and this hurts me                                                         epiphanies departed.

                                                            Yesterday you cursed me because I’m going to Colchester and         then you laughed when I said in my humble opinion because you think there’s nothing humble in me.

More limpid today                        less infected by bacteria.                           Not even dead I’d go back.

Poetry event - BEFORE I DIE (12 Feb 2014) | Write Out Loud

Poetry event - BEFORE I DIE (12 Feb 2014) | Write Out Loud