 Elsewhere is the place
Different the time Orthogonal the direction All about you Is a never ending flight An eternal missing A constant not to have Altrove è il luogo Diverso il tempo Ortogonale la direzione Tutto di te E' un continuo fuggire Un eterno mancare Un costante non avere  I was there, just on the border
Standing still, facing those blades of lights that someone calls intuitions or maybe illusions. Mistakes mistaken for reality or even perspectives. Rearranging the rules of the game, whatever it were, They wisphered ancient stories of human beings. They envisaged peculiar new paths Brand new patterns of possibilities, still uncovered and unnamed Melting pot of gifts for a new creation Still swirling and moving In the silence of that timeless space They create those minimal connections and relations Those semantic new patterns That at last will get a single shape And soul A new gem Brought to life  Perfect bodies to tell the story of the humans. To remember the beauty and the struggle, the passions and the fears.
Almost human themselves. Prisoner of their own never ending story. Tribute to the great artists that have given them a sort of immortality. Timeless presences spotting our cities. Time and ages sometimes meet just beyond the corner.  Here, at the glass
Standing on the border of this lifeless time Memories flush out as cold water in a mountain spring Wreked in this unnamed land, I simply stand. And wait Still, I can hear those voices wisphering false promises of redemption Still I can sense those dimensions once I was in Where the time was the ruler, And both the beginning and the end were the gift. For they were the brackets enclosing the possibilities of my time.  Standing silently
Staring forever Asking with no voice Mocking emotions Hinting a life Floating in the timeless realm of a dream to be dreamt. The dream of life.  Now, here Questions as usual. To be forgotten Now, always, forever and ever Poison only Nothing else, nothing more The days still move on and on, the same way they always did The world still spins around with apparently no drama, or sense of sin Same human made disasters Same emptiness filled up by ideologies and ghosts of nothing So fragile the mind, so unstable Somewhere, now In small things busy and concentrated Or simply relaxing after a night with friends, to breathe the sense of life and the joy of living Sipping a coffee while watching outside the window The world slowly waking up and entering the new day A new day Fog, a little bit Haze maybe The precious gift of a new season Your coffee still hot, the steam rising up in the air Circles and swirls encountering your eyes and your thoughts Your lips on the cup Your eyes staring at this painting of winter and life Your mind somewhere Far from here |
AuthorStories and novels, stories and shades of words. Sapphire can be a voice, a whisper, a night talk. Colours in words, words merged and melted with pictures. Words as colours, words as shapes sometimes overlapping with the visual experience. A different way to see the world or, maybe, just the very same way using different tools and finding different paths. Archives
September 2019
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