What is a poet?

 

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Some say a poet

Is a master of words

bringing emotions

Is that to be a poet?

Maybe he is, but I’m not so sure

I’ve always thought

A poet was a sort of prophet

Showing a way to walk through

But I’m not so sure anymore

I just wanted to be happy, not a poet…

But I’m not so sure even on that 

If I were happy would not be a poet…

But a poet is not just a rhymer, or a verse maker…

A poet is a searcher for love!

I know

We need something new in the world…

A new way of loving

 

Then I discovered Jesus

His life, His message

That’s true love!

Praised to Karalis

 

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We came from the sea

Tossed by the waves

Following herons

Blown by the wind

What we were

We did not remember

What we expected

We did not know

 

But we promptly liked

The land of silence

Its intense aromas

the strong colors

the bitter tastes

Now festive and peaceful

Now furious and livid

As the mood of the sea

 

And we liked

right away

the eyes of women

for them we stayed

and for them we coped

those who came later:

 

Punic and Roman,

Byzantine,

Iberian and Italian!

 

They have been all embodied,

merged on layers,

fibers of wounded hearts,

vibrant memory of cerebral cortex,

throbbing earth

under our tired feet,

where they stand proud,

oh Karalis,

your magical hills!

 

 

 

 

Echoes of a sad soul

 

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The new day

(on death of my brother Mauritius)

 

Now the veils of Maya have fallen

And no longer covers your body

The armor of the Syrian Naaman

I see on your face again

Shining the ancient light

Of our childhood games

When hopes

were all to come

And the misleading curtain

Which hardens the hearts

Had not yet come between us

Run now

On your nimble legs

Wait for me in the sunny lands

Where the sun never sets down.