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strange things happens
when a close decide
whether willing
or unwillingly
to depart
on the last journey
vaults after vaults are opening inside
that were up to this time inaccessible
flooded by all sorts of emotions
drifting over the mind
in its anesthetised defencelessness
opening towards the mystery of loss
and the mystery of love
the birds are still singing
despite a whole day of rain
and a night without moon
the world is still turning
despite our conscious
as our unconscious efforts
to make it stop
and the light is growing
again
tender soft falling
steady rain
celebrating winter solstice
bringing to the surface memories
from the year that past
closing circles
liberating space
for light to grow
anew
the last cry of an owl
accompanying the first timid twittering
of small birds
announcing a new day
even if short
clouds covers the sky
the preparations for the return of the light
are solemnly slowing down
the pace of a spinning world
into peace
a most poetic moon
full of discretion
setting behind the naked trees
with stars waking
over its course
not to be received
is not the end of the world
all it shows is
that what was might believed to be
our guiding star
turned out to be
a shooting one
with all the hope
and excitement there s to be found
in shooting stars
their ephemerality being
a condition for their glory
to possess the one and only
is rousing
all the way to the next
one and only is passing by
to give and receive love
without any claim
nor any request for possession
is a peaceful freedom
no one can ever take away
birds are singing in the dawn
the rain has stopped
long lines of clarity
breaks through consciousness
bringing perspective
into chaos
holding focus in the pain that seemed
unbearable
in order to no longer evade suffering
but elevate it into joy
light mist
and long sleep
dreams from a past
that no longer is
and yet seems to decide
upon the present
unless
the decision to leave it behind
is carried out
in every instant
by an act of
presence
awakening into despair
before dawn breaks the night
is discouraging in itself
awakening into despair
day
after day
after day
is deteriorating the nerves
awakening into despair
year
after year
after year
is hopeless
and yet
every new day
is a new day
every new dawn
an opportunity for joy
to unfold its wings
every break of dawn
so full of mercy
heavy grey
mild wind
omnipresent humidity
the cry of an owl
tearing the night
opening space and occasions
for shadows
to whirl freely
in the mind
disrupting every connection
to the heart
and yet
somewhere
a brim of light
is still burning
very soon it will be growing too