THE LAKE’S LITTLE PARADISE

  1. A GOLDEN EARLY MORNING

 

The day’s curtain rises

quietly

and the lake lightens.

Behind the reeds

οver the clear waters and wild flowers

portions of silken mist

hover in the air

renewing the colours.

Sounds of life from flying and floating

creatures

Jingle happily joyful silvery

wishes.

The proliferation of creatures

chirps and cries

with affectations on high

and leaps in the water.

Continuity is thus confirmed.

The sun’s golden light

its fervour and warmth

are little by little diffused.

They intensify the richness

of the encircled paradise

which as a soundless prayer

rises

to the invisible gods

of harmony and joy.

All

are eager to be born,

to take their shape,

to exist in opportune

times,

till they are discoloured by time

and absorbed by the landscape’s

holiness.

 

*

THE BODY MATERIALIZES THE WORDS

 

For all these to exist

they must become words.

That’s why is a human body

born.

The fusion of colours

scents and sounds

bear it

and render it to the light

luminous and invincible.

The eyes receive

the sizes, shapes

and shading of things.

The hovering smells

verify the lakeside scenery.

With songs the ears array life

which crawls, flies and swims

all expectation of its completion.

The tongue tastes the juicy fruit

and consigns essences and energy

to the arms and the young warrior’s

members.

The lips articulate

and demonstrate teeth

hymns of joy and happiness.

The flesh and his members

start dancing

to honour the moments

when everything is for the best,

and they flow quietly towards…eternity.

Thus is recounted the wonder of nature

to the universe.

With human presence

it is recounted.

Recounted with hymns and dances

of youth

which drunken is inspired by the beauty

of the good moment.

 

 

*

THE OLD SHEPHERD

 

But the old shepherd resting

under the shady bushes

looking at his reflection

in the water aging

day by day

halts the joyful dances

and invites the …  young man over.

He sits him beside him

and gently starts telling him

the thousand and one tales

of suspicion.

He says

that somewhere nearby

people alive

caught in a stationary trap

are erecting factories

with innards full of flames

and chimneys, which directly drive

into the eyes of heaven.

And all this, in order

to steal the future

and lay its treasures

beside them in the present

to enrich themselves

and to define the fate

of many.

They foul the earth, the sea

and the heavens

with their tall chimneys.

They affect the world’s

sacred container

without fear of any

god.

The smoke released

by the burning future

flies high up in the sky and pollutes it.

It falls in the water, soiling it.

It roosts, builds nests

in the foliage of trees

misting them over and wilting them.

It becomes a swarm of wild, jet black birds

and anything that comes its way

it mixes and detaches

with its nails and beaks.

The beauty it now tastes,

intoxicating and shaking it

in generative dances,

when over it passes

the swarm spreading

disease, devastation and transparent destruction,

it becomes a rubbish dump, full of trash

and wretched remnants of life.

That’s why nature uprooted it from nothingness

and gave it to hold

a bow and quiver

with arrows dipped in poison.

Nature crowned him doctor and benefactor,

it intentioned him to clear the landscape of impiety

and deliver it to the times

spotless and undefiled.

Only thus would his life gain weight.

 

*

THE BATTLE AND THE CLEARING

 

That’s what the old shepherd said to him,

and when the surprised young man asked:
“Where is evil?

Why not manifested before me?”

“You are still young

your eyes are immature!

In their mirror

only beauty

looks at itself and boasts.

Calamity knows how to hide.

But slowly its mould

rusts the mirror

and before you know it

darkness falls.”

So the shepherd comforted him

and gave him a drum and cymbals

to make a little earthquake

in order to scare the birds

and make them leave the reeds and fly high up … in the air.

As a stifled life desire.

Enclosed, bound, imprisoned

in a dark maze

seeking relief and freedom.

The wild rhythm

jumped up in the light

and mixed things up

that at first looked

harmonious and fine.

The calm morning’s glass partition

fell down, broke to smithereens

and became a rough red afternoon.

The dark birds

abandoned their nests

and spread out in the sky

with their cries and fluttering

incising

what at first looked

like a yellow and bright warm feast.

Their black wings

covered with grief and heavy shadows

the sun’s face.

The bow came off the warrior’s shoulder

and the arrows whirring  like lightning

started being pinned

on their chests.

Shortly after, the sky

was clear and luminous again.

But the earth, the vegetation

and the waters of the lake

were covered with the carcasses’

black carpet

that smelled of decay and damp death.

Only a fire’s blessing

would relieve the landscape for good.

With a small torch

as a little red hope

as a hidden tear

the young warrior

freed the chariot of flames.

He stood aside

with the wise old man

and left everything

to ashes!

They stood aside

and waited

for the holy rain to come from above

and raise beside the lake

a new day, beautiful

and clean,

brimful of freedom and health.

They stood waiting

for our paradise to be reborn.

Normally things

should have been

as they had dreamed.