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Waving Flag

While my own skin betrays me,

and words of hate have been said from their mouth,

a shut up mouth, an ignoring mouth, a sealed mouth,

I feel that I exist at last.

I am.

They can’t destroy my being with their denial,

they can’t change who I would like to love.

I will wave my flag,

I will stop blaming myself for my mistakes,

and one day, maybe really soon, this boy will be fine.

Annunci

Toronto

Stuck on the other side of the horizon,
strolling down the lights of Spadina,
till the water’s edge greets me with its phosphorescence,
and the air of yesterday smells like pinewood.
A scent of something nice, lost in the fog.

Then,
amid the highest glass,
I find myself thinking what would’ve been like,
to be a son of the other side,
a child of the land of the never-ending fields.
Will I ever change?

All the time that sun shines and the warmth of its rays crosses my windows,
I feel like I’m still there,
standing on the platforms of Union Station,
dreaming of a brilliant future,
a simple smile from a cute face,
the revolution I am looking for.

Again, again, I climb on a tree to see the harbour,
save me from a prison of bombing,
take me on a plane,
14.000 miles from home,
the first hope in my heart,
like a plane on Lake Ontario.

The Last Grip

A hug from a distance,
a warmness that lasts a minute,
the cold of winter surrounding our naked bodies.
You turn on the other side,
and I follow the strange presence of a body,
a warm human body next to mine.
Your kisses are full of heaven,
but inside I burn of emptiness,
while your smile was everything I wanted to see,
on that cold, dark night.
Just for one little time, just on that moment.
And I promise you that I won’t try it anymore,
I won’t dream of me and you anymore,
I will just turn away from your story.
My destiny is far away,
the long-needed separation is behind the corner,
the challenge.
I’m starving of being good at something,
the accent I can’t understand,
the automatic response of my brain.
A future, from where I will be able to watch that single night,
smile at it, write to you,
and find that same old fragile tension.
The last hopes that hold me here,
thin ropes about to stretch and break,
letting me free to fly in the warmer air of the path,
all dreams funnel on iron wings,
in the sun, in the brilliance I can see under palm trees,
other people, other fears,
and in dreams, I’m sure I will still hold your warm hands,
my last rope,
my last invisible grip.

Another Evening

The movie’s over,
silence in the black of night,
this disguise is too tight for me.
Writing words I don’t really mean,
listening to an instinct I can’t control,
while music plays in my head.
An origin I can’t deny,
an identity that I won’t ever have,
a future decided by the place where I’m born,
a future well out of hand.
Life looks like a glimpse of light,
days go by like lightning waiting to rest.
What’s this glimmering for?
what’s the sense of this struggling?
To find pure pearls of light somewhere,
signs of a so-blinding beauty,
that’s worth a ride, and a tale, and a story.
I want to tell the stories of those pearls,
I want to get lost in the fog,
dance in the rain,
throw away the umbrella and let my tears melt away.

Last Glimpses

I wonder if I see another sunset,

another ceiling, another white unknown space,

another waiting, another hour in the bathtube thinking about my life.

What’s happening?

It feels like I’m losing too much.

The smile on his face, the love he’s lost,

the worth of every day, spent smiling instead of crying.

I’m trying to force myself to smile at the mirror as the clock ticks on,

and I turn back to watch the crowded square,

and time stands still, and there’s only hope in my heart.

A pause, a glimpse of light. Let it slow down please.

I remember that time in Madrid,

staring at the King’s Palace with sad eyes as I walked away.

That blue sky, that lonely but perfect morning, that walk under a clear sun.

Where are those dreams? Where are they hidden?

It seems like a lifetime ago, a future I was claiming to be mine,

a future I still don’t know.

Every morning seems like a repetition, a blueprint of something I’ve lived once.

And now, at the beginning of the descent, at the turning of the tide, in the eye of the storm,

I let myself go, and I lose myself watching the sun rise, hoping for the dreams to come back.

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