The tangle that unravels the rules (The Way - 02/2024)

A thousand words resonate,

ranging from logic to reason

From emotion to heart.

They weigh, they hurt, they scratch, they bother

like the thorns of the weeds when walking.

A sigh wells up from my soul.

I don't know... I don't know, how do I write my rules?

For what and for whom?

If they are to be fulfilled, to be respected, obeyed and abided.

I wonder…. what are my rules?

Maybe they are created from what others want!

We are what we believe...

And it is there… it's there… in the outline of my own tangle, the one that unravels the feeling.

I realize who writes the rules, of freedom, of flying without fear.

Where in the present the wish comes true.

First of all, I

In the Second I

In the Third I

And in the immensity of life

For the others ……………………………………………let everyone pull out their weeds.

Therefore, the only one who unravels the rules of the tangle is me.

From reason to heart

The stroke

Resonates

Fly without fear

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I would love to be a color (Traces - 11/2022)

I would love to be a color

To dye my sorrows

for what was not

and

To which I do not encourage.

I would love to be a color

and

vibrate like freedom.

I would love to be a color

to cover my heart with love

I would love to be a color,

To paint my life of courage and valour

I would love to be a color

and

scream with all my being

I cannot anymore.

………….

I'd love to!...

I'd love to!

I'd love to!

be a color

and

bloom again.

I'd love to!...

I'd love to!

I'd love to!

be a color.

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I want to keep you (Traces - 04/2021)

Nature is my refuge, plants my origin

In it I take refuge, I contemplate the buds, the flowering, the leaves, the time….

I immerse myself in the colors, the transparencies, the ribs, and the song of the branches.

It is March, the crack of the green helmet, the minty aroma and the maternal quality of it, announce the expulsion of the walnut fruit.

Leafy, beautiful, delicate and generous in its nutrients the pear tree.

With green, rough leaves and deep reliefs, the fig tree is creation.

They are there, in front of me, witnessing an age of increasing acceleration. My eyes fill with tears, I want to scream! deep breath…. I can only register that moment and retain it, as does the fragile stamp in its embossing of paper.