MORBID DISAPPOINTMENT
These messages of love are wandering troubadours, teaching the lesson that to love forever is “the prayer.” The orison that unsettles God in His reason, breaking Him without detour at the heart of His own house. God’s eyes are filled with tears, His head bowed in sorrow. His heart in fragments, memories crumble from shadow into light, dangerous evil stalks me. My soul laid bare, unarmed, my body deceives itself with a life in a test tube. The trial of a coward, from shadow into light, dangerous evil stalks me. Double life, double drama, my breath is fading, love cannot be bought. Neither gold nor glitter, from shadow into light, dangerous evil stalks me. Wrongly pursuing the lady, pale or fevered with heat, her poison never ceases until death, always ready. From shadow into light, dangerous evil stalks me. Dressed in black, her charm, scorpion of my heart, all harm, all turmoil, my death will be your feast. From shadow into light, dangerous evil stalks me.
THE DISTRACTED ONE
If you want a kiss… mmm…! Look for me! Find me! If you want to hurt me, run far from me! If you don’t follow me step by step— Ouhhh! What a crash! If I slip beneath your sheets, Then…! I tell myself… Hurry up, boy! Me here, you not! What to do with you? If I feel like having some bo bi, then BA BA BI BO BI, me, me! If you want to kiss me, look for me, find me. If you want to hurt me, run far from me. You there! Me not. I won’t move an inch. Me here, You not! BABABIBOBI! * Me, me! If you want to kiss me, I don’t care about myself. I move toward you. Me here! You not! I won’t take revenge, not once. BABABIBOBI! * Me, me! for driving me mad. I wanted your heart, me. Me here! You not! You there! Me not!
RAINDROPS
Raindrops, though not gentle tears, and the sun that shines and charms— both messengers of the wildest dreams! A part of me soars toward the stars above. Higher still are moments of granted love, so warm, so strong, I wager fate. No opening, not even in mischief, will ever replace the gentle hollow, that humid cave, more than empty, that could be filled only by my yearning soul.
THE MANNA
Her word fell from the sky like manna. Still echo the phrases I gather, gilding honesty, subtly signaling me …to offer up a joyful heart upon my palm. Was she fairy, poet, or merry gypsy? I still drift on the echoes of her voice. So high, so far—like the flight of an ideal, a wild happiness binding atoms. From that precious sound emerged—no, emanated! An imagination refined yet translucent, a vibration clear as crystal, like a rare flower with precious balm. Artists of this planet—including me, Côme— who for so long have searched, however we could, for living inspiration to rescue us— am I the one for whom my muse leaves Ariadne’s thread…
THE EXISTENCE OF LOVE
Has love ever truly existed? I love and am not loved, sincere and generous… I search, I search. Is this a quest for the impossible? Where is it to be found? Perhaps it is only a utopia? A melody of ideas. The urge to explode! To burst and pour myself out… into the dream of a beloved. Does such love exist? Was it born? I love tenderly. I want to live in my time, whirling in the same momentum. But if this muse… if love had come to me, would I have known why?
KEEP YOURSELF WARM
Take me at my word. Laughing to death. To say that you know it— not so bad. Keep yourself warm. Something to say: everything’s to be done. Take me at my word. Don’t turn your back. I am not— not a Bingo card. My face isn’t… Tic-tac-toe. Bingo! When my X blocks your O, my heart cries Tic-tac-toe. Words, words—oh! oh! oh! Silence and sealed lips. Words, words—oh! oh! oh! Qué tic and tac! Qué tic and tac! Qué tic and tac! Qué tic and tac! Like a train, in my bath, Qué tic and tac! Qué tic and tac! Qué tic and tac! Qué tic and tac! Watch in hand, take my hand, the day after tomorrow. Father, mother— forever. Lose now, but allow it. Speak before… After, it’s the wind with the bit between its teeth! By words and by games—oh! oh! oh! Silence and sealed lips. When my X blocks your O, my heart cries Tic-tac-toe.
SECRETS
One day, I hope for words… Words that will be gentle or grave, Perhaps released all at once, Breaking free from their cage. They will play upon the ego, To loosen hidden wounds, Like a hero’s tears Flowing without cease, Drowning strength and courage. Yes! I have dreamed of such words, Gathered like a small village, Washed clean of every rumor. They will let secrets take flight, Yours and mine… in wisdom.
THE CHILD AND THE SEA
A child, feet in the water, Wondered where the sea had come from. “Where do these proud and lovely waves arise?” He asked aloud. He searched for greater words, Trying to answer his own illusion. But a tear dissolved the mystery inside his little heart. To soothe his sorrow, He picked up a shell from the sand. He pressed it to his familiar ear, To the ocean’s echoing murmur. “Why do you cry, bambino?” He heard from that singular voice. Not surprised, he did not flee the stranger Who stirred confusion in his mind. He repeated his question, Much like the day before: “I want to know where the sea begins. To understand why it is so beautiful.” “Little one, use your mind. Think deeply of your mother. You know she too comes from a mother, And that we can trace it back further still. Do you see the ocean’s horizon? Where boats and balloons disappear? From there come both mothers and the sea, From that place where all begins as a stream. Is it far away, little hero? Do not worry—look behind you. Your nurturers are one and the same. For your mother drinks beside the stream. Down her throat descends a drop of water, Which, like the very first on earth, Dreamed of becoming vast and ocean, And of becoming life’s jewel.” The child received this answer as a gift, And concluded from his companion’s words: “Thank you. I understand now that Mother is a sea, Resembling that single drop of water. Whether I am here or in a castle, To grow and to delight myself, I need only look at my mother, For she is the most beautiful of all.”
FREE ZONES
Between two open spaces, I soared high and happy, Natural and balanced, Playing at my own games. I wandered through fragmented dreams, Singing higher still—my fire bright; Laughing only, avoiding wrinkles And the first gray in my hair. Indulging in arid dreams, In rain-soaked loves, Clinging to acidic exchanges, Forgetting to be true and brave. Then you arrive, like a timid angel, Awakening me to better things, Erasing foul nightmares within me And thorn-covered paths. Thus, cleansed and lucid, I cast off archaic vows Forged by my pale and frigid soul, Which you, muse and companion, breathe toward God.
SO MUCH AND SO MANY
So many love songs, So many poems, So many beautiful writings Already invented. So many little words, So many tender feelings, From lovers to their beloved, Already confessed. So many glances, So many smiles, So many tender moments Already lived. There is so much, so much I would love! So much of everything I long to give. Yet in creation, There is no exclusivity. So many troubadours I wish to see inspired, Living through you.
WIND OF FORGETTING
A wind of spirit sweeps away forgetting. It restores life again. Like a rebirth. Like the Renaissance.