Broken Spell

Like an embryo bringing in pain his mum to her knees

A Poetess’ beats screamed to breathe freedom-breeze

Waking behind her tired lids the Angel of Sleep

To a mission of carrying out a peaceful delivery of her screaming deep

Faithfully he flew the dawn seeking virgin zones

Capturing moon’s last ray fallen on precious stones

And back pouring light-drops in her inkwell

To baptize every beat on farewell

"Explosion Thumb" painting by Salvador Dali

“Explosion Thumb” painting by Salvador Dali

Sneaking through her window, the sun touched her face

Whispering through her hair, “rise and shine your grace”

She opened her eyes with a smile to the almost-forgotten-sound

Sensing a warmth spinning through her insides; long-lost yet now found

Lost in thoughts surfing her mind and threatening to spill

To her den she strode looking for a badly-missed quill

Over the mahogany desk, she sat shedding her years

Few smiles mingle with countless tears

Finally her spirit broke free from the grasp of hell

Vivid rhymes danced over lines celebrating a broken spell

Kept the papers piling and time ticking till she lost count of the two

Once found:
there was a finished story as the Angel of Sleep back to her cold eyes flew


The Artist

Pink blooms, Green dances and Blue swirls

Neither is it nature’s twinkling dress, nor ocean’s glittering pearls

Not even a Wizard’s stick leading amazed beats to rush

And what’s magic compared to a true Artist’s brush!

A Painter who paints anything from nothing and in no time

A Musician that every atom everywhere sings his rhythm and rhyme

A Writer that bring his words meaning to Philosophy and Wisdom

A Poet that immortality builds his floating kingdom

“Eternal Father” painting by Challe

His tears; the rain…
his cold sweat; the snow

His breath; a morning breeze that if anger wakes through becomes a tornado

His smile; the sun shine
and fog is his frown

Clear blue sky; his cape
and the rainbow; his crown

His blink; lightning
and through his cords dwells thunder

A magician that black magic to his
did surrender

The Prime Judge that holy books were written to his law

The King that all kings to his presence bow.

Carving him in words, most famous poets prattle

For no language ever has won such a battle

Even monks aging in his love become slaves to silence

Every time they’re asked about him, they ask for guidance.

Perhaps Art is our only way to touch his glory

He’s The Artist and perhaps Art is his Life’s story…


“Lord of Planets” Painting by Mark Green

Crossing the infinite, stopped by an old globe

Exhausted that I thoughtlessly took off my sweaty robe

Which fell down dragging away faces of shame

In front of a crystal stream calling my name

Then warm arms started caressing my whole

Sprinkling fragrant fusion of spring and Fall

Stamping tender kisses in a sacred art

Till craved satisfaction every parcel and part

Generous tides surfed my deep

Sowing love for light to reap

With each fell veils of obscurity

Unveiling new means to maturity

A whole life within few moments born

A rose with no single thorn.

And as I reached ecstasy

A soft voice whispered, “Welcome to our Galaxy

I’m Mother Nature; The Earliest School

Love is my only golden rule

That’s why I’ve welcomed you over my bed

So my first lesson won’t ever escape your head

You’ll live it once, so live in love to be among the alive

Not by breathing you survive

Dream and paint your wonderland

Homeless are only those who didn’t take Light a homeland

And if worlds disappear, you’ll still be having me

Wide land, limitless sky and deep sea

I’m not a mother; but The Mother

And I only speak in the name of Father…”


Warrior of Light

Down the market aisles

Early I saw her wandering like snails

Never knew what stopped me by

Losing control to swallow an insisting “Hi”

You’re beauty’s Latin;

My ideal comes from there

Since ten in his love I’m fallen;

He signs P.C. over words so fair…

Please tell me you’re coming from his land

I need to send a kiss to his magical hand;

The same hand he’s written with “Eleven Minutes”

Thirsty I am like ever to drink his spirits…

Her greetings said she’s lost

“P.C.! That’s so weird on my side;

I’m afraid you’re ideal is a ghost,

Or in knowing my land’s treasure I lost pride” 


Oh don’t tell me it rings no bell

His words break an unbreakable spell…

Paulo Coelho is his name;

A story of immortal fame

“Oh I see; you’re under his magic;

Well I’m from there,

And I’ll tell you a truth so tragic:

People in my world, his success, don’t share” 

…Oh I pity those thinking they’re flying, when they only creep

I pity those forbidden to reach his deep

By his “Piedra” I sat and wept for a long time

I knocked hell with “Miss Prym”

And If I’m asked a wish over my deathbed

Certainly I’d choose one day of true delight

So I can die and live proud among the dead;

Having spent my last hours with a “Warrior of Light”

The Almighty

“Water” Painting by Jia Lu

Have your own Gods and leave me choose mine

Mine’s the gold of a sunshine

Mine’s a storm invading the infinite

Mine’s a monk meditating all night

Mine’s a cloud guarding the above

Mine’s a couple fallen in true love

Mine’s a raindrop holding life’s essence

Mine’s a beggar sharing few crumbs and being generous

Have your own Gods and leave me choose mine

Mine’s the gold of a sunshine

Mine’s a mountain facing years

Mine’s an orphan sunk in tears

Mine’s a valley after rain; wet

Mine’s a farmer sowing lands with his sweat

Mine’s a rock standing ages

Mine’s a patient still praying in late cancer stages

Oh Have your Gods and leave me choose mine

Mine’s the gold of a sunshine

Mine’s a spring in bloom

Mine’s a widow paying thanksgiving in her doom

Mine’s a tree purifying air

Mine’s a child in a wheelchair

Mine’s a plant in bud

Mine’s a soldier out of blood

Just have your Gods and leave me choose mine

Mine’s the gold of a sunshine

 Mine’s got galaxies in his name to preach

Mine’s got no book but love to reach

Mine’s is everywhere; no need to search

Mine’s lives in no mosque, in no church

Mine’s not the one you need to be a priest to cherish

Mine’s universal; not a Buddhist, Muslim, Christian or Jewish