Mary, song of the wind in my immortal being
Maria, they stole your sorrow, distressed, distressed in your bare, rosy chest. And on the petals of wings of white butterflies, they stole your pearly smile, with a poisoned stroke. They stole your desperate pain …
And I was lying on my bed, feeling betrayed by the princes of silence, cruel palace jailers. Glass palace frozen, icy and ice cream. Between roses of passion and tuberose, my frail passionate heart lay exhausted, on the edge of that immense cliff.
Mary, white lotus flowers sprouted on your bare, rosy chest, when my etheric universe transmuted into immortal. Mary, beautiful flower of Palestine, immortal gazelle of my captive soul.
In Gethsemane, I crossed the chained wall, with silver thorns and golden mother-of-pearl. Silver mother-of-pearl, revolts of suns and fine sparkles of white pearls. Mother-of-pearl thorns sprouted like helmets, between borders and cobbled fences, between subtle dreams. Dreams of eternal flights, dreams of endless stories, crossing borders of immortal lands. Florid border, barbed wire set in thin chains of steely and forbidden silver. Border of the immortal land of the snows, in golden mirages of your longed for oasis. Oasis gilded by ocher sunrises, by reflections of suns and clear sunsets, in the Kashmir valley.
I remained caged by jailers of light, secret keepers of lost Eden. And I went away from this forbidden world, flying, looking for a lotus flower, a tender cooing in my captive sea. I felt my immortal soul, embraced by your divine soul. I felt my soul vibrate, with your heartbeat and mine. And walking slowly, I found that lost sea, sense of your silence asleep. In brief moments, impregnated with the most absolute silence, cascades of sacred springs flowed. Cascades lulled the silent silences in my sea, because the world could not find the path of your fragile walk.
And in my immortal existence, Mary, you are the song of the autumn wind. You are silver and illusory veil in my starry firmament. You are white swan, among golden reeds. You are divine heron, in a pond of silver reflections. You are the samana of the sublime forest, between shines of neon lights and hidden fireflies. You are reddish glow in my divine sunrise. You are beautiful whispering of the river since time immemorial. You are a dancer of the dance of the seven veils, in my sweet immortality.
Deep secrets see a radiant, opaline shine, in your clear and hyaline eyes. And in your honey-colored, green-brindle eyes, a luminescent love is reflected; a passionate love, in the flower of your eternal heart in love. Lotus flower, between silvery sheets of water and cold drops of rain. Fresh grass, wet, flooded by torrents of clear and fine rain.
Waterfalls of fine water slide down your soft cheeks, rosy and divine. Rains from clear springs, in times of drought. Spring sketches, with fine divine white wings. Leaves of old poplars, curled to the roof of the heavens, asking for brief instants, pieces of immortal life.
Sprouting rivers of brave water, rivers of hot blood in my sweet immortality. Red lava erupts in my wounded and immortal heart. And on the wings of red butterflies, bruised by lost hearts, beautiful solidarity rainbow arises. Leaves sprout in a thousand branches, leaves of subtle desired springs.
Red hearts reflect muted loves of this humble destiny. Destiny forbidden and self-conscious, by the sobs and moans of a lost love. Intense clamor of an Essene people wounded. Bruised and wounded, between sharp swords of silver knives, between helms of white roses with golden thorns.
Tears and litanies are heard in the distance … Bewitched, haunted distance from the promised land. A consensual distance from your ancestral lost roots. Far away from your burning lava, from your strange warm blood. Old cries are heard in the distance … Distance from immortal lands, from immaculate divine lands. Far away from the land of the snows. Remoteness…
And you, meanwhile, you think about my eternal existence. And my soul in love, exhausted, raises its voice at dawn: I love you, red moon of my dreams! I love you, invisible perfume of my dreams! And my soul in love, asks at dawn: Do you deserve to be immortal without loveless? And the star Mióstenes exclaims, with his death: Better to die of love and to be reborn, than to live eternally without love!
Copyright poetic prose and photography