OF FRAGILE VIOLETS

Silent,

inexorable,

from veins glistens away the sap of time,

in a choreography of liquid holograms.

The years,

cynically inlay

the contours of the smile.

Like ravenous tiger's sharp claws,

they scratch the innermost hidden arcana,

arcana that never eclipse,

never detach themselves from the soul.

The years affect,

among the deep wrinkles,

the future that will feed on the yearning

of moments now savored.

In the soul, they vibrate,

would like to gush forth,

prolific lyrics of Love

for creation,

for its creatures.

Stormy love texts,

imbued with the saltiness

of the salt of life.

The universe and the sea unfold

in velvets of wisteria,

beyond the scarlet,

glowing organzas of the sunset.

On this sunset day,

fantasies singularly resemble

to fragile violets

to withered petals,

in a November that imprints on the soul

the foggiest nostalgia.

Heavenly Mother,

Virgin Mary,

stabat Mater dolorosa iuxta crucem lacrimosa,

dum, pendebat Filius.

Cuius animam gementem,

contristatam et dolentem pertransivit gladius

(Jacopone from Todi)

Another night is fading away,

I feel I have nothing more

to claim from life.

I find myself as an alien monad,

without a compass,

like a castaway adrift,

among opalescent,

sinuous,

cosmic waves of silence.

The illusions of darkness fly away

in asymmetries painted with indigo.

Anxious is the breath,

as I wait for the lukewarm,

tender,

rose quartz smile (*)

of a new,

joyous dawn of Love.

(*) Rose Quartz:

It is also called the stone of Love.

It soothes the pains of Love.