You gave to the wind
You threw the seeds of love unsparingly to the wind,
only gathered by the light gusts
that deposited them one by one
among the fertile valleys of brown spots
that declared war on the white-painted boats
painted with fresh dove feathers.
To the desert, your legacy, planted in the dark days of the Cold War
that raised its summer leaves immersed in oases of peace.
You looked to the sky, offering your gratitude
for the uniqueness of blood in the flow of fire
that continuously bathed the banks
dipped in the salt water of excruciating pain
at dawn, the piercing echoes of the rain resounded
that cried dew dried by the steam of interminable kisses
all left half-finished to return later to complete them.
In the dream, kisses still appear
to become the double wings of elegant monarchs.
And where are you now?
Already gone back to fight your own never-ending war,
only the truce of eyes that, reunited, admired each other,
promising eternity.
You buried your seeds to be found by the sun,
pierced by the chilling rays,
waiting for your warm hands,
to imprint in a child’s kiss,
the age-old purity,
that enclosed the purity of the heart,
that suffers today.
Butterfly Wings
Colorful butterflies, noble soul on the chill of the winter sun.
Trapped in the dew of the stomach, stirred in the night dance awaiting the dawn.
You invented the song, different and inviting every day,
actor and author of your part as the absolute protagonist.
The barefoot dancer applauded ceaselessly, her feet never touching the ground, she rose in flight over the aridity of the world put to rest among the desert oases, the one narrowed by the rocks,
milestones guardians of ash more dangerous than the burning coals left in the name of a love that has lost its nostalgia.
Fly high, butterfly, over the eastern skies, look ahead and don’t stop even for a useless greeting.
Stitched together from the drops of bitterness,
the pages of the soul write chapters of a new fantasy world painted by the colorful butterfly.
