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Poem

It is hard to take back the things said
Hard for the storks hovering in the air to vanish beyond the longing of the times 
Once the bullet is extracted from the wound 
Do not throw it away
For it is implanted in your blood 
It is in proportion with the stature of your soul! 

Once you release the song from within
And feel at ease 
You can contemplate the day in a different light 
You will feel satiated by the tribulations of life,
By the moment of pain.

Once the nights, round like the full moon, are here
And the gates of the underworld close 
Leave those useless petty ornaments on the seabed,
Take delight in the forgotten thought of your mother 
And the frigid breath of the rainy Friday…  

If only you knew about the bitter tears the mirrors shed when you left,
How the Pleiades got thinner next to the plum tree in the courtyard
How I also felt the firm hand of expectation in my chest!
The wind slams the gates of the future 
What is life…
But,
An inhalation of high summer right in the middle of the archipelago! 

I have not spent a single moment 
Without a stroke,
Not a single afternoon without a song.
I have not left a single white dove without treating it to basil 
But there is no single grain of rain left upon my fingers,
No sunflower seed left unharvested in my net.

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