Category: Poems

What It Is It is nonsense says reason It is what it is says love It is misfortune says calculation It is only pain says fear It is

The rose of writing to Tulio Mora To court her, to transplant her, poets, to the white sheet, to caress her thorn, till it bleeds aroma and colours

We were not born for days like these In one’s life, days like these should never happen again Such a thing Such a thought Such a day should

Writing Poetry Writing poetry is breaking the still-warm bread of dreams, throwing the crumbs to seagulls which appea on the secret shore. Rarely the crumb stops in mid-flight

Become a River If you spend your entire life dealing with impostors and cheats, how can you be surprised when everyone recognizes you are a swindler? Anger threatens

Recognition Not every river leads to the greater water of the sea nor reaches every road its goal step by step dawn removes the night and sometimes offers

Like love You are the body of the night, the silence of time, the colour of the voice I’ve never seen. You are cluster and bow, parabola, constellation,

 1. Nausicaa The wind, I remember, the light and your face among the rushes, a strange pallid face, unsettling.                                         I felt that I knew you from a long

Any way the wind blows For all those who feel that they aren’t in control I would have liked to be the disciple of Icarus. It would have

When you call me When you call me I will come to you like yellowed ginkgo leaves float in the autumn wind. When you call me I will