whilst treading in the midst of the gale,

it seems to me that

when the unforgiving whirlwind of fate,

the heaviest of hands,

knocks you out,

perhaps of an unsuspecting misery,

of all too sober mornings, orderly lists,

measured recipes of success and clean-cut phrases,

of the gates that were willingly closing but often forced open;

 

When a winged thought salutes the horizon,

caressing the skyline, paling at the fascination of the naturally curious,

the temper of the beastly,

the melting ferociousness of life itself;

 

Then, there is no other route, no alternate path or circuit,

that can dissipate the galvanic static of the mighty,

the tearful recognition when glancing at others as a mirror,

glimmering beams upon the standstill waters of a lake at sun fall.

In full:

must we, then, surrender to the blooming 

of a star-crossed spring 

whilst the foliage of the larches start to blush?

October 25, 2024 (travelling to Milan)