Tuesday, December 29, 2015


They want to get to Heaven
And follow through roads
Of pure hypocrisy;
-Oh, damned disgrace!

If they ever get there,
I assume that Hell
Will be a much better place.

Monday, December 21, 2015

Christmas Feeling

I half-open my eyes in the morning, and through my eyelashes, I see the dim light of a beautiful morning trying to break the opacity of the curtains. I get up and open the windows: the light gets in, in white flashes embroidered with gold. There's a feeling in the depths of my soul, a happy feeling: Christmas is coming. 

Glimpses of long past Christmas mornings come flying with the wind: I hear my mother's voice from the kitchen, while she prepares our supper. I hear my sister's laughs while they set up our Christmas tree in a corner of our  small living room. I hear the dogs barking friendly when my father gets home from work. 

I'm a small child, a little dark-haired girl in a short home dress. I run to the kitchen and try to get some of the cake batter that my mother is making. She gives me a little in a spoon, and I run to the yard, trying to escape the dogs that try to take the spoon from my hand. We run, play and laugh. It starts raining heavily, and I hear mom telling me to go in, so I sit at the kitchen door steps and look at the rain falling, breathing in its fresh smells.

My mother and father are gone. We have all grown up, and grown apart from each other for many reasons - I don't know if any of these reasons are strong enough, but life has its own ways of teaching what it wants us to learn, and sometimes, we learn best when we are alone and look at things from a different perspective. 

My childhood is gone, and so is that Christmas tree, but the child that used to dream of the gifts she would get while she watched Christmas TV commercials and memorized jingles and Christmas carols, is still alive. I left her sitting at the kitchen door, holding a spoon full of cake batter. Sometimes, she looks at me.

Monday, December 14, 2015

There Goes Another One...

There goes another one,
Through this same old road,
That leads to who knows where...

And barefoot she goes,
Naked in her soul,
Flowers in her hair.

I only hope she gets
Where she wants to get
A smile may she wear...

We're waving her goodbye,
It's difficult not to cry,
Involved by her flair.

Wednesday, December 9, 2015


A friend once told me 
That a realistic person 
Is just a pessimistic in disguise... 
Was he right?

A realist
Is said to see things
As they really are...
But what are they like?

Tuesday, December 1, 2015


Have I told you?
Don't expect it...
You can keep it.

Zip your lips
Or better:
Zip your ears!
(You have
No idea...)

Forget it,
Just let it
Smoothly fade
And disappear...

Monday, November 23, 2015

Tuesday, November 17, 2015


What do you see when you look through your window? 

I see a lot of birds and trees, and a natural landscape that is generous and rich in beauty. I see good neighbors who are always willing to help us out with our domestic problems, and living in a small town where most of the people know each other, I feel happy, safe and at home.

But this is not what a lot of other people see when they look through their windows. They see destruction and pain. They see a landscape full of debris, and the predominant color of their lives is grey. They see the constant menace of soldiers with their guns, and they are afraid to leave home. They see a hopeless world from which they have no escape. 

They see hate.

The next time you look through your window, remember to thank for your landscape. Show more thankfulness for the food you have in your pantry and learn not to complain if things are not as perfect as you would like them to be. 

Send a peaceful thought for those who have no peace. 

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Many Steps

We have a long way ahead of us,
But our steps are never enough.
We have a lot of new things to learn,
But our hard disks are much too full.

Under our tongues, many things to say,
But we are always cramming the words.

They say that this world is a school,
But break time never seems to come.
There are many things we'd like to do,
But we never seem willing to start.

There are many flowers trying to bloom
Under the rocks of our broken hearts.

Tuesday, November 10, 2015


Long ago, together they sat
In that unusual afternoon promenade;
One of them showed his jobs,
The other one, opened his gates.

The first one said: “You’re better than bad,”
The other replied: “You’re not worse than good.”
And then, in silence they stood,
Thinking about how they had met.

Suddenly, the first became the last,
And so the last became the first
Not for competitive disgust,
But for a matter of life test.

In an improbable afternoon,
For the last time ever set
Two great geniuses met
In order to seal their fates. 

Finally, one of them said:
“You’ve done great Jobs!”
And the other one replied:
“You’ve opened  big Gates.”

Sunday, November 8, 2015

Shattered Song

Shattered silver song
To which someone listens
Without any sense
Or even sensibility
Always frail and tense,
Seven times surrenders,
Fakes her criticism...

Swept away with fear
Shows a strong attempt
To appear solid,
But in fact, she's vain...
Just a poor saint
Who has lost her halo
For it has been melted
By the heats of  sadness...

Saturday, October 31, 2015


When you think I'm nothing,
I'll be everything.
I'll be playing with your hair,
Watching all your steps,
Flying with the wind.

When you think I'm over,
I'll be over everything,
Glancing through the sky
(Clouds raining from my eyes)
Far better than you think.

When you finally forget me,
Figuring it's not worth 
Spending your days like this,

I'll have let you go,
I'll finally have flown
Further in the bliss.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015


A bird is just a bird,
That's all it has to be,
And nothing but a bird.
Its house is in the air,
Its blankets are its feathers.

And everything that matters,
Is flying just for pleasure,
Spread its wings and go,
Not worrying where to rest,
Whatever the weather is.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015


Clouds pass by across the blue sky.
From the rain, not even a dim sight.
The sun blinds me, shining so bright.

I miss the darkness, where the right
Used to hide from vicious eyes.

Maybe one day I will abide
The laws I presently despise. 

Oh, how I loath all this dam plight!

All stupidity seems to float
Smoothly, softly,
In a river of high-sounding light.

Friday, October 16, 2015


In a world so obscure
I've learned not to be so sure.
It's the benefit of doubt
That allures me. 

Up and down, in and out,
All my dreams have been so factual...
And I try to avoid the fall
In the abyss of assurance. 

Tuesday, October 13, 2015



Envy is a like a dull knife:
It cuts through its victim's flesh
Without any care,
So that after the job is done
Nothing will be left in a good state.

Neither to the victim
Nor to the torturer.

True Love

He passed by her without a look,
Carelessly and coldly, slammed the door.
She smiled faintly and kept on sweeping 
An imaginary floor.

And when she spoke, he didn't answer,
Instead, he mumbled: "You're a whore!"
The atmosphere grew even denser 
And she didn't try anymore...

At dinner time, he was just fuming
And for no reason, lost his patience
A simple glance was just enough
For him to throw her against the door...

And as she wiped her bloody lips
Repeating to herself: "I'm fine!"
Awaiting on the shelf, a bottle
Of  good old strychnine.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

The Door

I used to pass by that door
Whenever I went to school.
Never saw it open,
Never heard a sound.
Just a closed door,
Colors fading in the sun.

I was very curious
About what was behind it:
Maybe a lonely ghost
Sitting in the dark
Just waiting for a toast
When he'd be remembered?

Monday, October 5, 2015

You Can't

You can't just turn around.
Everywhere you look, there it is.
Maybe you think you can pretend
Not to see what's on your way.

But one day,
There it is again, and again, and again.
The only possibility,
Is to step on that road very slowly and lightly,
Fell the soil under your feet and then
Give another step,
And another, and another

Until you have covered all that path,
Felt all the rain on your shoulders,
And the pain, and the fear,
And after you have shed all your tears,
You can say to yourself:
"Go a different way."

Saturday, October 3, 2015

What Am I Going to Wear?

Yellow, red, white or purple?
All I know is I'll be barefoot.

Old or new, short or long,
They all wait for my decision.

Do they think that I am smart
Or  an object of derision?

While I choose, I walk in circles
My make up, a coat of soot.

Thursday, October 1, 2015

The Picture

It was on the the shelf, in a corner,
A woman smiled in tones of sepia.
Nobody knew her anymore,
Or when or where she had been born.

And from the door,
Her face was the first thing that was seen.

Her eyes, as faded as her smile - maybe green?
Her hands were resting on her lap,
But the peace she tried to pass
Was nothing but a mask
Made of despair.

Her hair,
A dark mass at the top of her head,
With loose strands that reached her shoulders.
She was not much older,
But so sad...

And day by day, they passed by her
Without a worry or a stare.
She had been dead for such a long time,
That nobody cared...


Is when everything
Is all over.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015


I write for those who never read me
Or if they do, they've never shown,
I raise my poems from my womb...
(Will they read them upon my tomb?)

I write for those who cannot fly,
(But have they ever, ever tried?)
I spread my words into their world
And each of them, they just deny.

I am the one who's "solitary"
But if they gave a second look,
They'd see what's written in my book...
(-But would they buy a dictionary?)

I write for those whose eyes are blind,
They're deaf and dumb, and cold and dry.
And even though they'll never listen,
I write, for otherwise, I'd die.


I've finally found out
That most of the tears I cried
Were not mine.
They dropped from other eyes,
so clear, salty and bright
-but they were not mine.
Yet I have on my face
All the tracks
They've left behind.

From My Window

This is about what I see from my window. The world, the people. But it's important that one thing is absolutely clear: The landscape changes everyday, and sometimes, more than once. Or maybe, my eyes change...


Sometimes I see a poem. 
Sometimes I see a street. 

The street comes from me. 
It leads the words I see 
To the world where you all live. 

Sometimes I just don't see...
The street is dead and gone.
There's no way I can go
Back to the place I call my own.