For What It’s Worth

In the glimpse of a lightning
Breaking through the black clouds
Your eyes fell into mine

In the noise of the leaves
Crushing on my fall’s path
Promises turned into a lie

And the beat is still beating
And the mind is still sharp
But the breath has run dry

Peace is rare and is precious
Like your love to my life
And I still wonder why.

My sea

This is my haven, a calm place wrapped in the arms of the Southern Europe shores, made of summer swim and winter walks. Here I use to sit in the sand and breathe to the rhythm of the waves.

This is where all my memories coalesce, where being son and father, young and old, happy and sad can finally merge to become just what I am.

Welcome to my sea.

A morning flight

“¡Vamos!”

My Spanish friend and good pilot José effortlessly convinces me to join him for an early morning flight in the Costa Brava sky. The air is fresh and clean, we take off and smoothly buzz around on our small plane. We are not alone, but our friends waving at us from below have chosen a quieter way of flying 🙂

The Dharma Boy

Thrown down below
By a trick of time
Well dark and deep
Black burning eyes

And bleeding toes
And scorched knees
Too many bottles
Crushed under his feet

You used to call him
The Dharma Boy
Maker of dreams
And glittering toys

He used to call you
Lovely Miss Wont
Lady of the blue bird
Unbreakable bond

Thrown down below
A fall out of grace
Your slippery walls
Consumed his nails

But blood has gone dry
And so did the tears
Of The Dharma Boy
Maker of dreams.

Hush

Your eyes into my eyes
Your finger on my mouth
“Hush dear, it’s time to sleep”
The moon is rising now

No one can hear us lover
No distance to traverse
Your body seems to glow
I bend my head back down

Your eyes into my eyes
Your finger on my mouth
“Hush dear” and I surrender
The moon is calm and bright.

Sunday’s picture

A few words, a heartfelt language
Ringing in smiles or in reproach
Beloved women busy in the perfume
Of an early morning kitchen
Teen burning dreams, boredom wins again
Ant there’s nowhere to go under this summer rain
But going will not make you happier
One day you will know and drawn
In this tide of memories called home.

Mornings ahead

A leather bound
Book in his hand
He sits and turns
The same pages again

Tales of young wolves
And sweet blooded preys
And sun bathed leaves
Spaces to roam away

Tales of a wizard
Places left behind
People smiling
At a slight of hand

Tales of joy
And a brilliant tree
Lovely kisses
And prayers on a knee

Tales from the past
And a well known land
Cherished memories
For the mornings ahead.

Merry Christmas, my friends.

Unholy

Music plays
Door ajar
I perceive
Your profile

Ink drops burn
Sheets to ashes
Worn out tape
Blows a hum

Love replays
Torn beholders
Eyes avoid
Other’s eyes

Distant witness
Chants unholy
Transient glory
Of transient lives.

The dark light

There is a dark light
Hiding in my thoughts
Playing with my memories
Drenched in my tears

You, queen of hearts
I’ve never been your story
And even less your life
Just another toy on the way

There goes the dark light
Exposed in my thoughts
Flashing with my memories
Laughing at my tears

You, queen of hearts
I’ll never be your story
Maybe a hole in your life
And a toy, lost on the way.

Subliminal

Spectres of turmoil
Slip out of their cage
They float like oil
On the surface of waves

Iridescent colors
Out of deep black
Tricks from the hidden
Words of the track

Eyes to the ground
I shun the reflections
Lost in my void
Ghost memories die.