Tuesday, July 19, 2016

MYTHISTORY



He turned around
ran
made it at last
                                            He had hit the road
                                            since midnight
                                            Sighs
                                            and soot
                                            gathered in a row
                                            while withdrawal was being censused
                                                                                                             Like a bright cave
                                                                                                             with mystic stalagmites
                                                                                                             within its thousand alleys
                                                                                                             which depose its beasts,
                                                                                                             even at nights,
                                                                                                             the agitated head
                                                                                                             uncovered a lot of mazes
                                                                                                             and every attempt hurt


On the hereditary bench
at the threshing fields
where everyone lays
whatever he has as a breakfast,
he laid that day                           an apology          a prayer        and a dagger
and opened a real road
As his guides he had                  the stimulus        the cause      and the outburst
As his station master he had one;
the site manager for mortal crews
                                                   for the workers of light
                                                                                       for the immortal deeds
ideal
mysterious.


And he went on
walked uphill
passed by some arches
found himself ahead of time
then remained behind
and the ladies greeded him
at their door-thresholds
which they adorned with stitches
or chrocheted words in doilies
within the years.

He loved to hear the glass in people’s laughter
He gathered the clear stars as fruits
while love was dancing loudly…
He wouldn’t discover it to be closed
the shipyard of the world.


Now he was marching in the Upper District…


Midnight had lapsed a long ago
but the lights were still on.


An engraved seed
that gradually opened wide
all by itself
in the argil and the clay
depicted a great lot.
                                                                                         While a whole lot of everything
                                                                                         having been hidden on the river bank
                                                                                         was rousing in the wind
                                                                                         reborn ornaments and traces.


Upon the vaults his heart was swinging
within the sleeping bed of the alluring fantasy
and his ablaze soul was responding
to the sigh from the turning leaf.


First and uncommon it was
bedazzled although crystal clear
such a journey to infinite places
of a short or a long distance
and always among the others.


Only the insane people were mocking
the extent of mind
between the deeds of the major or minor
and suddenly it seemed aloof
every gaze
from the crowd of the deep
which gives birth to the images.


                   Some curved sea                                 He was arduously sailing on
                   And he didn’t care                                When the day broke


He quarelled with the birds that daunted his scarecrows
                      
While he turned the hardships over with the rest ones that remained


However, something kept holding him on the eagle’s nest


A yearning or a torture


He counted days in slow motion
Now there was no travelling
Now he was unwinding new yarns
Warps and wefts
from some sin
which became a need.


He refused to leave space for love


Another dawn came round
Pervading furtively
He cursed the mood of inactivity
And every single thing he had taken with him
When he bought whatever he wanted


Then he took the road on the one foot,  
he wore a sandal on the other,  
and, although the night owl    
yelled names,   
he got into the orchards    
and started chasing snakes.   


Where his friend
the one lost in the soaking wet years
lived
and where he
he didn’t know


                                    Not even who that lantern was sent by
                                    to show him what had been broken
                                    by the ragged stones.


If he lost the bet,   
he wouldn’t be able to pay off   
the slight piece of sunrise.   


 While passing the blind
 on the land of vision
    he granted burning torches
- the channels were nearby  -
 spinning the wick.


Much as experience as he got                                                       On the peak of secrets
He couldn’t respond                                                                       To the changes
Of his thymic mania


He couldn’t even find an effective weapon against it                  And like a keel of a ship
He was going up and down                                                        Dancing like a dranken pirate


After having offered fake echanges
                                                                                      Being on the verge of a sly protection
He managed though  
                                                                                      To hear distant lullibies
Exactly on the moment he withdrew his gaze
                                                                                      So that he would face his only

Truth


In one tale he was fearless                                           In another a flexible panther

And in a third a wise god


He kept following himself


But his being was an unredeemable sailor


This urged him at last
To abandon his intoxication
To cherish the presence
Of another person near him
And sweep off his traces
from having been walled.


A mutual joint stood out


Being lighthearted from now on   
He balanced on it   
And among the diameters  
he chose the feeling of labor  


But how could he stand to trim
Or weed
Every junior or senior river                                                Right on the moment it carries down
                                                                                         Its poor load
                                                                                         Upon a horribly blazing mulch
                                                                                         Peeled-off
                                                                                         Without a faithful counter-color move


The worst card that rotates
Towards a ruthless guile-like protection
Persistantly calls him to the cold                                       But the line intensifies
Of his perfidy                                                                     The unfairly lost width
And the pole
Almost destitude   
Is still trying to find him
In the dark


Like a bending door with an essence
He seems to be asking for the views of the wall


His own world vents out a reek
And maybe humanly the places of calamity
Have some kind of responsibility to accept

A sleek soul of double declension
                                                he participates completely
                                                in the attached herd of the yard
                                                He stands in the queue
                                                and obediently moans
                                                He confiscates the hideousness
                                                without binding it
                                                on the circle that
                                                as people say
                                                cares for him
                                               
                                               Some day this same circle will drench him off


Completely few he counts his teeth                                                            And joins the waves
As the curved help                                                                              From the stars is missing


With a mixed ostensibly-driven facade he gets geared
Constant information he deflects


He will remain a warrior   


And as he will be taking off
                      The little beggar on the land below his wings
                                                        Will be blinking at him meaningfully


                                                                            This child will own the paradoxical arms
                                                                            to embrace the whole picture
                                                                            of the peaceful roll of humanity


The first future has passed by                   And here comes up in the vineyard the second one


                                         Agile and smiling