Mauro Montacchiesi

YOUR EYES IN THE SKY

 

Life goes by, and the years

inlay the skin.

They chisel the perennial spells

that never depart from the soul.

They carve,

between the wrinkles of the night,

my future,

framed in seconds, barely punctuated.

The mind soars

on the mountain of memories and emotions

I feel like re-reading.

And so, fade away the motionless hands of the clock.

I don't know whether to be afraid of time

precisely because it has stopped.

Just a doubt:

Is it good, or is it wrong?

An alien kaleidoscope

projects your eyes into the sky,

into a dimensionless mysticism,

where every fantasy reverberates

among the wreckage of time.

Your image glistens

among the quiet salty smell of the sea,

and is thaumaturgical elixir

a root that becomes

majestic redwood.

It is cold tonight.

The wind has already frosted

the hill in front of our balcony.

That balcony from where,

hand in hand,

we listened to the pulsing

of the heart of the night.

An arcane yearning,

with machete blows,

creeps into the mind.

It creates openings to a feeble melopoeia,

among the meanderings of my bewildered heart,

while a melancholy whisper,

without a compass,

wanders in an unknown world.

I am the wandering avatar

of an alien monad,

and I attempt to dispel the ordeals

of my Karman,

while it cloaks my memories.

It is leaden autumn,

and a newly blooming thunderstorm,

fragrant,

impetuous,

tears away every remnant of life

from my meadow

and also, every gasp of the soul.

My soul is now drowning

in the painkilling Lète,

the river of the extinct memories.

The torment blossoms again,

and with it, a piercing pain

that undermines the heart,

with the afflatus of a mellifluous caress,

of a paradoxical gasp of life.

Devoid of patterns,

of rules,

I let myself go

to a somnolent chimera

that unfolds its wings

among the contours of the night.

The pain suddenly

turns into joy.

I sense a universe of love

in the heart,

as my eyes

enjoy the nocturnal creation

that paints your face,

tonight, more intense,

sweeter,

more authentic than ever before.

 

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Mauro Montacchiesi.
Published on e-Stories.org on 08.06.2013.

 
 

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