THE QUEEN OF DAISIES

I feel exactly like … a black rose in a field of daisies. A black, withered, neglected rose, but with the thorns still ready to protect it, even when someone would like to pick it up like this, worn out as it is. I feel like a dead rose, but still with the strength to defend myself from others. And I know that I could spoil the beauty of the other flowers, because in comparison to me they look more alive and colorful. I also know that I spoil the landscape, but I feel this way and I can’t help it.

For a long time I have wondered what it takes to be truly happy: maybe a perfect family? Maybe, a person you love? Perhaps, a house in the most beautiful city that exists? Here, these things could not exist if our happiness were not the fruit of something more, if there were not something that elevates us so high as to lead us to love something we do not have. Happiness lies in what we do not see only with our own eyes: it is seeing the lawn greener than usual and being able to photograph the only flowering tree in a square; dancing on cut trunks and hugging trees; wait for the train to pass before taking a picture and greet those who smile at you from the wagons as if you were crazy; feel your hands burn because they have been rubbed on a bark and try to attract the attention of two dogs that will never listen to you anyway; adjust your camera settings to make this photo the best and feel your eyes water from the sun; playing with (pseudo) pine cones and falling off a bench trying to do something artistic. Well, I didn’t think I could enjoy all this, to have that little bubble of energy to feel that around me there is still so much to observe and analyze. And above all, I didn’t think I had someone with a bubble so big that I could get bigger. And never break out.

I’m like a daisy. They are of an almost banal simplicity, taken for granted, nothing special. But thus being born everywhere, thus resisting the cold and the wind, those who trample me, those who do not appreciate me. So astonish only those who still have a pure heart, like that of children who, after tearing a daisy from the lawn, give it to their mother. They are purity and sweetness at the same time. Sure, sometimes I wither, but I never die.

Today I dress in the daisies of the sky.
Those who laugh more than the stars.
With the same anxiety that keeps the seed alive.
Inside the black clod.
As long as he sees the unknown desired light,
and accompany the river on its long journey.
Between monotonous shores towards a glorious sea,
where together he recognizes and reaches his goal.
I was waiting for you without knowing it,
And waiting was also love.
I remember this and nothing else,
and I can tell you nothing else,
now that the time of love is revealed.
I create dances of little balls on the wind and a rush of gladness takes my heart back.
The eyes sink into the eyes,
sweet lips come together and all the petals
fall from the sky like snow.