THE LAKE’S LITTLE PARADISE
- 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.
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