Ship

Peaceful piece of happiness

under warm sunlight

covered by blue sky

 crossed by green birds

picking pink fruits.

This purple dessert

tastes of wine and Italian immigrants

and the black beans tell me the tale

of black slaves crossing the sea in chains.

This sea has been crossed

by so many

for so many reasons.

I am a traveller from the past

who crosses the sea

to find a new home in a land

that is said to be the future.

It is a young ship

on stormy water

with no compass on board

protected by blue sky

 crossed by green birds

picking pink fruits.

My sparkling white soul

waves in the wind

like the ship's sails

foreseeing a fantastic future.

Flame

There is no darkness 

that can't be broken

by a tiny light

coming from the inside.

Fate

I Saw

I saw your wings. 

I saw them. 

They were there: large and white, 

making you fly above me like an angel. 

You were strong and beautiful

and your sparkling smile made my heart smile-

wherever you were, things were good.

I saw your kind eyes and felt the warmth you spread

wherever you went.

As if you brought sun to darkness, 

enlightening everything around you.

Your hug was soft and loving and felt like home.

I saw all this in you. 

Until I opened my eyes

and you weren't an angel anymore

you were a snake

crawling on the ground

black and red with a poisonous tongue.

You were scaly and hideous

and your dangerous grin made my heart freeze-

wherever you were, things became evil.

I saw your mad eyes and felt the poison you spread

wherever you went.

As if you brought darkness to the light

darkening everything around you.

Your clasp was hard and viperish and felt like death.

I saw all this in you.

Milk Bottle

I've run out of emotions. 

It seems as if I have used them too much 

and now there aren't any left. 

Like an empty milk bottle. 

Easily breakable.

You look at me and you see nothing but glass. 

No colours nor flavours. 

Just an empty bottle. 

You can't drink it.

You can't use it.

It's tasteless,

colourless,

purposeless.

It's worthless. 

Why don't you throw it away?

The day the phone rang

Things were hard then. Seven years in peace. She could be glad her husband had not been called to serve. He was ill, a heart condition had made him survive the war. Ironic. A disease made him survive. And the healthy ones died.  Her brothers had gone to Russia. For good. There had not been any funeral. Sometimes she caught herself looking at the door, waiting for them to come home. Where could they be? Buried somewhere underneath layers of Siberian ice? Cut to pieces somewhere in Poland? Alive? Had they been tortured? Did they starve to death or were they shot by the Soviets? It felt so wrong.

Her wedding had been a very humble celebration. People smiled, remembering those who were not there to celebrate anymore. Remembering was bad. It hurt. So they stopped remembering.They had a little house and a little field. Her husband was a good man, docile and grateful. It was 6 o'clock and darkness had come to the tiny village. These days were dark, even the sun seemed dark. She loved her name, as it was the same name of her favourite Saint. She loved her two boys, too. They were crawling around. Of course they did not know it was the 23rd of December. They did not know, it was almost Christmas. She smiled when she opened her only drawer, where she had put his gift. It was nothing special, she thought. But she had knitted a long, warm scarf for her husband. He went working by bike and the winter would grip his neck. This scarf would protect him and keep him healthy. She smiled and remembered how she had chosen the wool: It had the same colour of the flowers he had given to her when he proposed. Yellow and white. Five years happily married. He was hard working and a patient father. Of course they were surprised, when the doctor said: There is one more! Two babies? At once? They didn't have enough diapers and clothes for the two little boys. Brave they were! Long time sick but never gave up fighting. Endless nights they had fought the fever and the coughs. Whenever their father looked at them, they smiled, as if they were saying: Don't worry, we'll be ok!
So she took the scarf and opened a little paper back to wrap it. She wanted to write a prayer on the back, his favourite prayer. The phone rang. The boys kept crawling around the polished wooden floor. It was stuffy inside the room, she had put some wood in the stove, so the boys wouldn't feel cold. They were healthy now and her biggest worry was to see them sick. The phone rang again. She never had gotten used to this thing! Why this ringing, black object at home? She was the only one in her family who had a phone, that's why they kept coming to her to use this modern device. At least she could be helpful, as she hadn't had much time to care about her father and her only surviving sister. Her father was a black smith before the first world war. After the second world war he had stopped talking. After losing his wife and four sons, he had given up. He ate, slept, sat in the kitchen and nodded if someone asked something. He had been a good father, strict but just. And this phone, again! Hello?
Ma'am?
Yes?
We're calling you to inform you.
Yes?
There has been an accident.
 Accident? What do you mean?
Yes, Ma'am. We're sorry. A car hit your husband. 
What do you mean?
He did not survive.
He? Did not? What?
Terrible darkness came to the tiny village.
The warm yellow scarf fell on the floor.
The healthy boys kept crawling around.
The stove got hotter and hotter.
She saw her favourite Saint winking and smiling.
She saw the wooden ceiling with the black hole in it coming down.
The war had damaged the house badly.
The Saint was coming close.
Endless darkness.


Maria? Are you still there?

Powerless

I wish I could hurt you really bad

I would cut your fingers off, 

one by one and make you eat them.

I would tear your hair out

and burn it. 

I wish I could cut your skin 

and make you bleed all over.

You would drown in your own blood.

I would fill a cup with this

red, warm liquid that smells like iron

and I would make you drink it!

I wish I could cause in you 
the worst pain of your life

just by looking at you.

Genius

Inside this bottle

you'll find the truth.

Inside this glass

you'll find reality.

It'll be messed up

and kind of blurry

but you'll never see it that clearly

like on the bottom of this bottle.

When the liquid gives place

to an insight that'll last only for a moment.

The world stops spinning

and you stop thinking 

and you just see it.

For this moment to last

you would have to live in the bottle.

And then you'd be a Genius,

a Genius in the bottle

trapped forever.

You prefer liberty. 

10220

Today is your 10,220th day.
And what have you done?
How many more days will there be for you?
You're celebrating that time passes?
You're happy today, because the calendar gives you a number?
Weird.

Living Painting

It's a rectangular image

surrounded by white borders

and with the sound of water drops.

The image changes colours,

in winter it's completely grey

with naked trees and bushes

and no birds at all. 

Cold.

In Spring it's yellow

like the easter bush

and smells of chocolate

and you hear birds chirping.

Sunny.

In Summer it's deep green

like the never ending backyard lawn

and smells of barbecue smoke

and you sweat in the sun.

Hot.

In Autumn it's red and orange

as if the sunset had painted the trees

and the birds meet to fly away

and it smells of earth and rain.

Windy.

It's a rectangular kitchen window

surrounded by white borders

and with the sound of water drops in the sink.