THE DISTANCE TO RETURN

You emerged from a light that showed you the path.
From the shadows you turned
listening to a voice that was telling you:
I want to be happy.
You covered that distance
that describes abandon,
the injustice of one’s own heart
that is often mistaken,
but feels a thousand affronts
like a liquid of red lead
running through one’s veins.
No one told you how life was.
No one explained to you what happens in these cases
where noise doesn’t let you hear the calm
and the whirlwind of a thousand black fishes
devours your gaze
and shakes water from your ears.
But the buzz won’t last forever.
The confusion isn’t eternal
and you could intuit that the sea wasn’t far
and remember that you sometimes stepped from the bath
with the windows uncovered
like you abandoned yourself to love
with the invisible curtains of modesty
and the shadow of your body
naked before other people’s eyes.
Blank–that atmosphere
in which there’s no space or time
and you abandon your body to other people’s hands
with the confidence that you’ll awaken
at some time
–some not very distant day–.
What taste did your mouth have
when it articulated words
you didn’t manage to hear?
What type of cloud did your eyes see?
What surrounding color
if green is the color of hope?
Do you remember?
You emerged to another world
through a door that appeared false
but was true
because only you knew
how to choose–among the many
that rushed forward in your wake–
the true hand.
For a reality similar to the previous one
–like breathing naked–
because the noise that was changing you inside
had disappeared.
You emerged from yourself
and once again heard a voice that was telling you:
I want to be happy,
a sound inexistent for many
that still gives you the shivers
because you remember again
the wake of a naked body
moving to the window.
How can you confess what you felt?
Why pay attention to others
who will not believe what you saw?
Do you remember?
When your pupils began
to unite the landscape of life
and knit all the tesserae of light
as the present does with the past
and vision with objects
a voice told you: it’s over now.
It took your hand
–you had never in your life
felt anything like it–
with so much affection, with such softness of skin,
with so much force and weight at the same time,
like secrets that can never be told
that are one day put away forever
–a day that you should never convert
into some not very distant day–;
and when you were told time to live
then you understood.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>