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Sung By Puglia

ono una ruota che gira sempre
senza una destinazione o un rullo

Sono una trottola che gira sempre
che gira finché non mi fermo
Signore, cosa devo fare?
Allora cosa devo fare?
I miei mondi in un vortice
Dammi amore o speranza
Solo una cosa a cui aggrapparmi
Mi fai girare in tondo
Ohh in giro
E in giro vado
Sono legato a te
Per te
Ohh, ooh, ohh
Sono un orologio senza volto
Con speranze senza tempo
Che non si fermano mai
Signore, quando mi sento così
Tu conosci la mia anima in cambio
__________________________
una piccola cosa a cui aggrapparsi, ah
mi hai fatto girare in tondo


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Sung By:Puglia
the Arturia Audietion
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Listen to the Wind

Shh...
close your eyes to find your peace
listen to the wind and its mystic secrets

The universe the clouds the sun the moon
have their own cosmic language
and who better to translate than the wind

Shh...
close your eyes and stand very still
give it time to harmonize mind heart and soul

Healing Poetry

The poet knows that broken things
still catch and hold the light,
that even shattered verses
can illuminate the night.
We write our way through tangled thoughts,
untangle knots with rhyme,
transform the chaos in our minds
to music, line by line.
Each word a small rebellion
against the urge to hide,
each poem proof that even pain
can blossom into pride.
So let the ink flow freely
through the labyrinth of care—
for in the act of writing down,
we learn that we are there.
Not lost, not gone, not broken past
the power to create,
but human, whole, and worthy of
the stories we translate.????????????????

ALL THAT JAZZ

Play that Saxophone for me, play a sweet Melody
Play the keys so smoothly , let the music sing for me.
As i close my eyes I feel so alive and hypnotised by the vibes it is sending to me.
It is driving me wild, sending shivers up my spine.
I have a natural high for I am in total bliss with this music. 
Come with me and experience a jazz feast
Listen to the Saxophone, clarinet, the Spanish guitar,
Bass guitar, obeo,piano,  chelo and more .
The world of jazz has so much to offer the heart, mind and soul.
Step inside yhe world of jazz let it translate you to a different land .
Smooth jazz, easy on the mind , nice and relaxed
Dim the lights and let yhe music take flight
With all that jazz.

Life is short

Life is short they say
So you better make the most of it
But what happens When that's not the case for everyone 
Where there are some 
Who are constantly changing freedom
Whilst simultaneously hiding in the shadows 
Hoping to see tomorrow 

So how can one live life to the fullest 
When the odds are stacked against you
But when you're black this is your reality 
A life controlled by anxiety 

Where our life is a puppet 
The strings are the shackles 
The puppet master is a system 
Where the audience are the racists 
And their laughs translate to racism

Life is short but we have to spend it trying to survive 
Constantly trying to hide 
As if we were on the run from a crime 
The crime at hand being black
As if our existence to them was an attack

So yes life is short, but for us It's even shorter
Where we are hunted for fun
And our main focus is survival
So I'll say it again 
Yes life is short, but for us It's even shorter

How Quaint

     Ring the bell-hop, how quaint
     Dial the Operator? – Translate! …

     Western Union’s clickety-clack, now faint
     alongside the sensory lure of wet paint

       All of these ~ today, ain’t

Liturgies of the Flesh

You arrived like dusk—
not falling, but folding the sky inward,
your body a benediction
I knelt to translate.

No prayer passed my lips,
only the hush of devotion,
tongue pressed to the scripture
written in your trembling.

And when you opened—
not like a door,
but like dusk releases the bloom
too shy for daylight—
I drank not of desire
but of trust, poured full.

Your thighs curved like parentheses
around a secret I was meant to hold.
Your hands, constellations mapping
the shape of surrender.
We traced each other in tides,
language drawn from salt and ache.

I descended beneath reason,
rose beneath breath.
My name vanished into your gasp
as yours bloomed on my tongue.

We were not two,
but twin liturgies—
each mouth a chalice,
each exhale, gospel.
We worshipped without altar,
knowing the body is the holiest text
we dare not read aloud.

And when we broke,
it was not into silence
but into starlight—
shared, swallowed,
sung.

Silence Listens

and then...the wind swept
over the field like a whisper
that can be heard but ~
  never understood

like forgotten dreams
the second we awake ~
were they quiet while we slept,
or a cacophonous frenzy
in which silence is noisy words
which translate to nothings?

we're better forgetting them anyway
lest...they trouble our day
like a barking dog through a picket fence,
yet, when we look, it's all not there ~
all that's left are windswept fields where
whispers are only ~ imagined?

Note: A poem is never finished; It's only abandoned - Paul Valery

A cemetery of sorts

Contest: Cemetery
Sponsor: Constance La France
Written 28.05.2025

They called him wild although he hardly spoke.
Remote to them to breathe electric air.
He moaned in thought before the plastic broke.
A soundless pressure wound too tight to bear.

Each toy held codes he opened to translate.
He was not mean but simply born to ask.
No answers came from objects he’d ablate.
Limbs scattered wide aft each intrusive task.

The remnants piled in corners of the room.
In silence, as in graveyards of a kind.
On shelves lie things he swore not to inhume,
but questions still move restless through his mind.

At night he dreams of limbs and twisted wire.
Not wreckage, but a map of his desire

Itni si hain ye dua

"Aankhein aesi, jaise aakash ganga mein behte taarein.
(Eyes rivalling the river of stars in the sky)
 Muskaan aesi, maano suraj ki kirano ko bunn ke banaye.
(A smile spun from the rays of the sun) 
Aawaj aesi jaise tarakhti dhoop mein chhaaon mein chalti hawaayein.
(A voice as soothing as a breeze in scorching summer)  
Tera saath aesa, jaise andheri raahon mein chand ki halki roshni ka sahara.
(Presence reminding of the gentle moon light, guiding through dark routes) 
Tera choo jana manno rab ki duayein" 
(Your touch, so divine/ your touch feels like a blessing from the divine)
Teri gair maijudgi karde mujhe bheer mein akela
(Your absence makes me feel alone in the crowd) 
Tera rona karde mere dill ko beshara
(Your tears hits me with a wave of helplessness)
Zindagi meri rahe ya na rahe...bas tu mere saath rahe
(Cant translate this one. Sorry)
Bas itni si hain is dill ki ye dua
Bas itni si hain is dill ki ye dua...

The ceiling blinked first, it told me I was looking up too much

The ceiling blinked first—it told me I was looking up too much,
time laughed in a corner, counting backwards just to mock me,
my shadow packed its bags and left a sticky note:
"You're thinking too hard. I need air."
The fan above spun secrets, whispering in Morse code,
I'm not sure if it cursed me or told me the meaning of life,
(too lazy to translate), I sipped gravity like tea,
watched ants reinvent capitalism on the edge of the desk,
and somewhere, in a parallel kitchen, my slice of toast is still falling,
but never touches the floor, floating between unknown dimensions,
while my thoughts dance among the dust threads of the universe,
seeking answers to unspoken questions, in the silence of a ceiling with thoughts.

The Test Of Time

Time is very much like a RIVER
Throwing up GHOSTS to make us SHIVER
And leaves us sweating and COLD
How many like Faust have their souls sold?
DELIVERING webs so WICKED
With no return journey,life is but a one way ticket
That the mind freezes
And our world teases
So many with a tormented mind
From which rarely can they  solace find
How can we escape this cold phantasmagoria
To translate it into  full blown  ecstatic euphoria ?
There never can be a proper escape
From time's oppressive  chronological  rape

Cosmos

free state
   need resuscitate
   can’t hesitate
   to evaluate
   then elaborate
   specious debate
   too late
   dare dedicate
   stilling hate
   egos inflate
   do perpetuate
   inevitable fate
   armageddon date
   will not wait
   lest we consecrate
   civil complaint
   with new translate

Energy Creates

As energy accumulates,

It also creates,

Operates,

In different states.

Obtaining traits,

Learning to propagate,

Designing a substrate,

Continuing to circulate.

It starts to vibrate,

Concentrate,

Learning to duplicate,

A code to translate.

A way to activate,

And begin to animate,

As the air mutates,

Into shapes that fascinate.

Molecules starts to migrate,

As they rotate and calibrate,

Delegate and designate,

Into something great.

One able to captivate,

Encapsulate,

A being to dictate,

How its energy will create.

Weaving Stars

She knew little of astrology
yet she could translate the stars
applying strange images
as if she saw what no one else did.

Together we would climb
to the crest of a rocky ridge,
there she would relate
visions of crypto-beasts and
numinous beings.

She weaved together a living poem
with her pinpoint insights,
each one was a gateway
to yet another starry night.

I could not love her though,
she belonged
to that Great Nothing,
and I needed something
lesser
to anchor my soul upon.

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