Broken..

Everything in this world has a hidden meaning. Man, animals, trees, stars, they are all hieroglyphics… woe is anyone who begin to decipher them and guess what they mean! .
When you see them, you do not understand them.
You think they are really men, animals, trees, stars. It is only years later, too late, that you understand...
Nikos Kazantzakis

more here
http://www.pbase.com/silvia_marmori/hidden_meaning

It's harder..

It is harder to kill a phantom than a reality

Virgina Woolf

air of heaven..

"The air of heaven is that which blows between a horse’s ears.."
or the one i still listen when remembering your voice..

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to trot the air..

When I bestride him, I soar,
I am a hawk: he trots the air;
the earth sings when he touches it;
the basest horn of his hoof is more musical
than the pipe of Hermes.

~William Shakespeare, Henry V

maybe..

I was taking a photo of the window.. and someone appeared taking the photo of who knows whose soul..
The photo of a photo.. the soul taking a soul.. taking a soul…
I wondered, without an answer.
Like at the insomnia nights…
Like the endless remembrances that appear, as hidden thieves, and instead of stealing they give us a present: a feeling of melancholy..
For the times deeply lived and gone but also for the times to come.. maybe.
And that “maybe” makes the whole difference…

a touch of mighty Venus..

Walking along those empty, narrow streets, under a thin rain, he had felt a presence following him... penetrating deep inside his thoughts... intense.
Erice, a city full of history. Myths, ghosts coming from immemorial ages. Where Phoenicians, Greeks and Romans had worshipped goddess Astarte, Aphrodite, Venus.. all different names for same entity: Love's goddess. Where Heracles had been inbetween one of his famous twelve works. Where Aeneas had made his father's funeral and had left some fellows before departing to other lands. One of those fellows had established there.... a priestess of Venus... forbidden love... departures to other lands, beyond the sea... and broken hopes.

He went on walking. He had been at a bar, some minutes before, talking to someone he had just met with the feeling they knew each other from years. They had been there sharing their past, hoping their future... somehow a souls' meeting, or a gentle touch of mighty Venus?
He finally reached the church and the singular tower, the one that had been, in the past, a watching point to see if ships would come near the town. Both buildings had been built with the stones of the old goddess' temple.

Rain had ended... and a soft, persistent fog was pervading all. He stopped for a while. Something at the tower... A noise? Just breeze?
He looked at its top... he felt it again, extremely intense inside his soul...
Shivering, he went on walking, knowing that nothing would be ever the same... nothing!

Driven crazy of eternity..

I let myself be on the Earth because I am the “enjoyer”,
the one that under clouds remains quiet.
I think: if anybody would touch my hands
he would go away, driven crazy of eternity..

Manuel J. Castilla
Salta's poet..