You have wings, why don’t you fly away?


“What can I do with my happiness? How can I keep it, conceal it, bury it where I may never lose it? I want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace and silk, and press it over myself again.” (Henry and June – Anais Nin)

What are you waiting for?

The thing you are waiting for

Will it come any time soon?

What are you looking at?

The thing you are looking at

Is it out of your view?

What are you aiming at?

The thing you are aiming at

Is it unreachable?

You have wings

Why don’t you fly?

Why do you stay right there?

Are you also paralyzed by love?

Like me?

When does my love begin?

The smell of candles – wild autumnal flowers perfume – makes me think of you tonight. What I remember most is your perfume, how your skin smells. When you enter the room. The moment you open the door in the morning, there is this smell. The good and sweet smell of something fresh and clean. Something new. Yes, when you arrive in the morning, you are the first breeze of the winter, of the summer.

I was not in love with you at that time. Though I remember you could numb me. By moments. I could feel dizzy being close to you sometimes. Before I fell in love, I fell in love with your smell, your patience and your tolerance. Not once I had to justify myself in front of you. And little by little I just realized that it was all thanks to you. And about you. Your perfume, the way you let people live, the way you let me live. The moment I had to almost hide myself, you were the one to tell me to get out of my hidden place. And I love you for that. I love you for letting me be myself, be “ME”. It was such a relief to be with you at that time. I love our friendship before I love you.

You are probably the person with whom I can be absolutely sincere and honest and naked. You can read me. My mind.

I don’t know what I can expect more than that. From you. There is nothing more to expect.

I see my love as a miracle. You are absent most of the times. But I could never forget that you were the first one to encourage me to be me. Even if you would never be here again, this marks me forever. By that time I left behind everything of a normal life and nobody understood my decision. But during our talks, you understood me. Maybe you pretended so to get to know me better, maybe you wanted to be my closest friend. I don’t care about your intentions. You gave me the first vision that a woman could be anything. Anything really.

When does my love begin? Certainly at that moment. Not in a kiss. Not under moonlight. Not with candlelights. But in something much more essential. You gave me the real instinct and desire of living my freedom, before the society.

I love you for that. The wonderful smell of yours and the unique taste of my freedom you once gave me.

Could I escape?

photo-67Could I escape ?

I go far

Under different skies

Of  multiple colors

I open my eyes

For a thousand of landscapes

From crowds to loneliness

I run

I walk

In different rhythms

On sand, on grass, on asphalt

I go far

My legs are like wings

But could I escape?

Like this water

It does not flow

It goes nowhere

My heart

Beats like a metronome

Stays still

In the same land

With a familiar name


Our way

I did it my way

This past year

Turned out alright

No regrets I have had

Not even a few

I did it my way

Stubborn I was told

Judgments I did not mind

You inspired me

In courage

Your unique philosophy of life

One backpack

Multiple trips

We did it our way

This past year

Mine about love

Yours  freedom

You inspired me

Love combined with freedom

My soul has grown

Not even you can imagine

I am your disciple

In my love and your freedom

The price of love

“Loving another person is a wonderful thing, and if that love is sincere, no one ends up tossed into a labyrinth. You have to have more faith in yourself.” (Norvegian Wood – Haruki Murakami)

I wish someday you could find a home where I live. You would come back, with all your luggage and stay. You would be tired of these countries, more exotic, more exciting than the one of you and me. You would find your way back to us. Your home would be with me or not, but the dust and the sensation of freedom from all of your trips, you could always keep them. Your wings would be forever yours and you could always walk away again. When boredom catches up with you and your wings needs to fly. In the meantime, I would still welcome you to my place, to my heart. We would still walk through our Old Town, hand in hand. This energetic way of yours when holding my hands. We would still chill out on the couch and listen to some music. This poetic way of yours when looking at me in music. We would still kiss all nights. This passionate way of yours when kissing me. You would rest before a new trip. You would find your way out once you had given me all you had.

I love you because you could never be kept in one place, just for me. I love you because exactly I could only see you with wings and dust. It is the kind of love which could not see you daily in our home. For that kiss to be forever passionate, for that gaze to be forever intense, for that embrace to be forever warm, I need to set you free. I would stay right in front of the porch, seeing you walking away, waiting for you to come back. My whole life. Not once, my love has changed. Not once, you have changed. Your body and soul would be the incarnation of freedom, accessible to me every once in a while, but in the most powerful and exquisite way. It is the price that I accept to pay. I would not prefer to love you another way.

Poetry and Penitence

I attended today a panel on poetry reflecting on incarceration.

From inside the wall, convicts write poems to breathe, they write for oxygen. Some are twenty years old and had been sentencing for life or more than twenty years. Some will never get out. Here are the words of Ben, James and others. From outside the wall, I share their struggles and suffering. The followings are their words. I share them in freedom and hope. I feel like a duty to do so.

Regrets from James:

Hopes dwindle, dreams fade

Attitudes flare,

Pain inflicted, no one listens

Just icy stares.

No mercy, no forgiveness

No second chance, 

Walks alone, dials but no one’s home

A prisoner’s stance

If Shoes Can Feel Shame from Ben:

Often when we feel shame, up is the last place we want to look. My shoulders, they slump, tilting my head and my gaze locking on my shoes. I don’t know if a pair of shoes can feel shame, if so mine have bore the brunt of it. I fear one day I will be a hunchback…

Vulnerability from Ben:

My heart is not bitter

In fact it’s broken

But I know what it means to be a man

Gentleness, integrity and love

Quiet strength, a father a husband a friend

These things make me a man

And I am no longer afraid

We are alike

Our countries look alike

The mountains, the lakes and the green

The houses and the same flowers on the balcony

We share a border

We are alike

You and your blue green eyes

Me and my dark hair

We met where there was no time, no rules, no attach

You speak your dialect

I speak mine

We communicate with smiles, silence and music

You run miles and miles away from home

I stay in the same place

When I touch your skin

And you taste mine

You and I

We are alike

Two happy and untamed souls

No border, no limits, no fear

If we meet again

Allow me to choose the ocean

For the friendly sound of waves

And the beauty of the mermaids

No tides to tie us down

You are free and so am I

If only we could tame each other

In no time, no rules, no limits and no fear

If only we were that alike

The man on the sand

Who are you?

Laying there on the sweet and smooth sand

I can’t see your face

Your head turning on the other side

You seem peaceful

Your calmness is contagious

Who are you?

Barefoot in the sand

I can’t see your face

This time you turn your back

You walk and fade away

Into sand and desert

You make me feel like disappear

Your freedom is contagious

Who are you?

Stranger on the sand

Does it really matter?

To know who you are.

You offer peace and freedom

In one photo shot

Does it really matter?

To know who you are.

Illusion of freedom

A nomad soul

Travels around

Freedom in his acts

Management of his time

Control of his emotions

Cares about nothing

Never looks back

Erases memories without pity

Liberty earned he thought

His dry heart triumphs

He is content for a while

Then comes to realize

Liberty in a prisoner’s heart

Illusion of freedom in a tortured mind

Is worth nothing

Even miles away

A nomad soul

Needs more than space

Closure is never about changing places

If only escaping was a solution

Then we would all become nomads.