DEAR SANTA CLAUS

Dear Santa Claus,

I know I'm pretty early to ask you for a gift already, but if I start now maybe you can organize yourself better.
What I want this year for Christmas are not the usual things: an end to war, hunger and poverty. Those are ailments treatable by man, with a little good will.
No, what I am asking of you is much simpler: make every landline or mobile phone, computer and television suddenly stop working on Christmas day.
I'm not talking about the mobile phones of people who are far away and need to hear each other because they can't see each other, touch each other.
I am talking about those who are close and have stopped looking at each other to stay attached to an electronic device, without feelings. I'm talking about those people who do not look at the sky because they no longer leave their room, too busy with the keys
of a PC or the engaging sound of TV.
I'm talking about those who when they are together with friends, girlfriend, husband, relatives, children cannot detach themselves from that damned phone and lose the best moments of life: those that last a second and then pass.
Because life is an eternal Present and whoever wastes it on a small or large screen loses the infinitesimal joys, the little lights that make a soul brighter: a laugh from the heart, a look in love, the sunset that falls on the water. or among the burnished leaves of a tree in autumn, a caress, a kiss, the breath of the wind, the voice of silence.
It can happen to everyone to read a message on the mobile phone, when you are with someone else, but dear Santa Claus there are people who do not detach from that mobile phone for a second: you can forget your car keys, house keys, your wallet, the scarf, the umbrella. Head too! But the cell phone, no. That is never forgotten.
It is like an additional limb that keeps us connected with the world and on the world.
Except where we are at that moment. And with the people we are with.
See dear Santa, how much can electronics do? This is why I ask you to make sure that this year, at Christmas, people find themselves in front of a cell phone, a PC, a TV completely dead.
Maybe so they will begin to look up at the people next to them and notice how many beautiful little things had escaped from their eyes because "they never noticed", because they hadn't paid attention.
Maybe this way people will leave the house and start chatting with each other, rather than with a cold screen.
If you do this dear Santa Claus, maybe this year we will live one less day of electronics and one more day of Light.
Thank you.

THE HEART OF THE MOON

Heart night.
Heart moon.
Mystery illuminated by the dream.
The thought tears. Every morning it opens one day.
It hurts to wake up.
Having to live in human sleep.
A bright and perky twin.
While you are still sleeping.
An efficient and hardworking twin while you laze in the sheets.
A slab of hearts.
Crushed.
I went in from the back.
Walking on the carpets with holes in them.
The rooster crowed.
The rain was coming.
Candles dropped from my eyes and the light touched my green irises, coloring the meadows of your feeling.
I have chosen not to participate in the life cycle but to remain in nature.
From your doors to my doors a hanging wire grows, almost a vine.
Profane.
A darkly severed scene cut by a skeptical director.
That you want a happy ending is obvious but my end is always cynical.
Heart night.
Heart moon.
Mystery illuminated by the dream.
The thought tears.
Every morning it opens one day.
It hurts to wake up.
Having to live in human sleep.
A bright and perky twin.
While you are still sleeping.
An efficient and hardworking twin while you laze in the sheets.
A slab of hearts.
Crushed.

 

WE’VE LOST THE NIGHT

We are the ones that the night swallows,
those that the sound pushes away the unlit lights come on
we fly over the extinguished flames
We are the ones who lost their wings while they were not flying
We are light as feathers and we listen to the wind.
We are the ones who don’t dream at night, sleep doesn’t touch them,
life doesn’t even touch them. We are free from any vulgar emotion.
We walked with Arthur while he wrote, and we were crazy, and he screamed.
But we are no longer the poets of the past, with drugs in ink.
We saw the world as it became and we hated it until we didn’t write anymore

I DIED ONCE

I wandered through a fantasy forest.
Blue branches, yellow barks, purple grasses, star gourds.
My one second dream.
Those who keep their hats even at night.
The thieves of gods.
Tears without taste.
Drinking.
I don’t protect myself with the sacred.
My mantle is made of mountains, bright rocks, forests that I don’t know.
Human journeys first were made by dogs.
Flora is like a colored texture around the inky black of my path.
I was a happy child and I was making bouquets of flowers.
Now I collect stones to consolidate my torn chest.
I died once where I haven’t walked yet.
I was taken without my permission.
Collected by an ogre they didn’t warn me about.
It wasn’t his garden, and I hadn’t crossed over.
Maybe my being a doll brought him closer.
Perhaps beauty sometimes brings death.

%d bloggers like this: