POETRY (in English)

The softhearted whisper of the cerulean space.

Nothing can be demanded. No deals can be struck. When facing God one can only beg...

A burned hand learns to fear the flame in milliseconds...

Did I leave it in my pocket, next to the keys to my home? Or in my wallet, or with my phone?

The city’s lights burn retinas with the afterglow of shaky swirls while pretty head-ache flames crawl through the back of my skull.

I traded with the devil my eyes for his sight. He also gave me hearing where whispers arrived.

Somewhere I read "write the truest thing you know" so I decided to have a go...

You have seen our spirits as we walked on earth on the roads where you survive to love.

Can a candle light the way if a candle can just say that a man tried to pray for his body made of clay?

Birds bolt as bells blast the silence. The sun vaults rays casting shadows. Past is the time where high temples were built.

From the flowering petals to the crashing waves, from the burning stars to the singing birds, the atoms breathe...

Oh, it’s grand feeling like the center of attention... with all the birds and trees singing outside of comprehension...

There is something very deeply religious about star-gazing or collecting stamps, or building shrines out of fly-ridden cow heads.

The youth that was I, Schrödinger said, there is no intermediate break no death... nor will there ever be.

But in the real world, in the physical world, you, you were born to a line of fucking monsters...

I keep talking to you. Whether you passed in your sleep or your brain shut down or your body turned against you...

I once gazed into the water and a shadow gazed back into me.

One can easily think what is the unthinkable. But how does one forget what is unforgettable?

If I were the man To wake up next to you For a year, I would...