Today...

Today the wind blows so strong in England that it seems that its going to break all the windows and blow all the trees away... I think spirits use strong winds like this to travel around. The wind transports their invisible beings and then both transparent friends carry stories along the long distances of time, through the ears and skins of whoever happens to pass by.

Today the wind blows so strong, that it makes you feel small, fragile, helpless, cold, alive. Your hair rushes to your face and there is nothing you can do to stop it and to stop the wind. The wind always carries news. Birds, flowers, pollen and news. I got a phone call from the wind. You can worry as much as you want, but at the end of the day, the unexpected will be worse (or better) than any of the things you imagined or worried about.

Today the wind blows and brings and takes and feels like a curtain of invisible ice.
Today the wind rushes you to look for shelter. run, hide, seek, dance.

Where will you end up if you go just to where the wind blows?

Theneverendinglifecycle

Its been long since I've written poetry,
but at the same time,
I've never stopped.

No one ever stops.
A night of sleep doesn't mean you're stopping, a holiday doesn't either.
You never stop being,
you never stop poetry.

Life is a continuous cycle of mornings, nights, twilight and dawns
of creating yourself, again and again
a restless struggle with time
of adjusting your dreams to meeting deadlines.

luckily, not always.

Luckily you'll find some time,
to look at the moon
some time to wonder
some time to feel,
and some time to sleep without thinking of today or tomorrow.

Perhaps you'll find yourself doing
something you love and enjoy so much
that it wont mean any effort at all.

and perhaps this life cycle of never ending moons and suns
will not consume you
and you will stop racing and start looking at the things
that you walked past before
because you were in a rush.

and perhaps,
the fire that chases you from behind your feet
will cool off
and let you rest
and let you sleep
and let you be.

azile
x

D is for Dreams

I've been running, unable to stop, since I can remember.
From the very first moment when I knew the place where I was born, was not my place.
To the moment when I longed for something further than the Earth and even the stars.
From caging my thoughts in words,
To freeing myself in love.
From the corner of an abandoned dusty road, with cows grassing by my side,
To a grey place that I can now call home, at least for a while.
From a world of confusion in which I thought I could never wake up,
to the safety of a warm bed and an arm to hold me.
From the nightmare, to the dream.
Yet again, I can't stay, I must run.
And when I think I can stop, that's when I get be pushed harder,
to the limit,
always to the limit, always to the extreme.
Just kissing the edge of the cliff.
Licking the frontiers of madness.
For that I keep my scars.
Keeping myself here with you,
in subtle, gentle balance
that keeps me from falling and keeps me running.

His Struggle to find the light Switch

The tyres squeaked violently as the car accelerated away from his drive. They had dropped him feeling absolutely clueless in front of his own doorstep. But on his current condition, he could not recognise the same doorstep he crossed two years ago, when he fell in love with the house, or when he showed it to his second wife Nora; he couldn't even remember picking up the newspaper from that very doorstep, every morning. No, he rang the bell and waited, as any stranger would have done. Slowly he realized that no one would open the door for him anymore. The uncomfortable weight that he had to carry around all night in his pocket, were the keys to that door. The third key, after the chain and the hotel logo was the front door key. He leaned on the door and counted: one, tow, three... It worked! as the door opened he lost support and when it was fully open, he fell straight over the green carpet, like an old tree over the grass. An old tree he was. The carpet smelt of the detergent Nora used to like. He stayed there, in that position for a while, remembering and then avoiding the painful spot in his memory and thinking 'I'm going to be sick any minute'. He battled to take off his coat, laying on the floor, like a fish out of water. One arm off. The room was dark and packed with useless old furniture, inherited from ancient pretencious unknown relatives. From memory, if he stretched his left arm he should reach the light switch next to flower pot. A little stretch and... on! The light was overwhelming. It inundated the whole room and drowned him in a sea of guilt. He could barely drag himself up to the sofa, but no, he could not face his life under full bright light, no, not tonight. Darkness and sweet dreams awaited for this broken prince.

Moon Stories

Life runs from the generals to the particulars, that is, everything happens to everyone, but it is how YOU experience it what makes it different, unique.
Everybody, well, almost everybody falls in love (or at least believes so...) how it happens has inspired a million of films, novels, songs, art...
Love and life can be told in short stories, short stories of people who experienced them with intensity, people who at least for that moment, felt trully alive.
These are, my moon stories.