Coming home to myself

The end of a match
Screams streaming through
The penalties
My dad calling me
To announce the end of it
And the beginning of the celebrations…
I scream louder than I can
And in every fibre of myself
I feel Italian
I am happy and I belong,
For a while…

The alarm rings the next morning
And today I am lost
I am filled with tears feeling the absence,
And the distance,
The separation
The time gone
My childhood slowly disappearing
Veiled with fainted unreachable
Memories

I wished I could feed that little girl
With this joy
I wished I could tell her
We made it, at last, so she could jump
And scream, and be happy…

But I no longer find her…
I see a woman now
Trying to find her place into adulthood
Trying to let go and embrace
Trying to win her daily battles

What is it? That still makes me scream at every goal, and then takes away the joy of it the next morning?

How can I come back home to myself and return to my present, any present on the line of time, that makes life eternal, and beautiful, and real, and just impeccable.

In the presence of the giants

There are people you cannot rescue
From your memories,
Little cognitive dissonances
In the fair of your existence

Sometimes their thought comes back
To knock at your door, for brief, rapid breaths
You try to swallow them in, to find a place
For them into the gallery of your treasures
And yet, they refuse to stay:
their indifference proves their non existence
They keep erasing traces of shared spaces from you
slowly, surely, painfully disappearing…
And you’re suddenly so lonely!

You see them then from faraway,
Enormously empty ghosts.

Thinking about time

Slipping away
Like icing sugar
From my fingers
Falling everywhere
Over my story
Impermanent
Powdery and sweet
You’re everywhere, Time
Inside and outside
Myself
You are the thread that links
My story to the larger narrative
Of history
And make it eternal, despite my human
Temporariness
Everyday I live you
I let go a bit of you
But you always come back to me
With your cyclical tempo
Offering second chances
To missed opportunities
To see more beauty
And live more…
More intensively
More truly
More real.

Stridente

The noise that nostalgia does
When it comes knocking at your door
At night
Opening and slamming doors of memory
Violently banging the corners of your heart.
Petrifying motionless fear
Mixed with
Turbulent pain,
Orange hiatus into the blackness of
The night.

And, in a moment, everything seems crushed
Broken, ill
While you are desperately trying
To make sense of the storm
To control the waves of the inquietude
To float into this mess of tearful stars

There‘a no sugar able to heal this misery
There’s just you, in conversation with yourself
A little girl
In front
Of a giant mirror
Reflecting your vulnerability
The naked truth
The lump in the throat
Of reality.

Navigating the unknown

Navigating this silent space of sorrow
And magic…
The absence to be filled
With dreams, projects, opportunities
The blanks within the story
Of my life
Giving rhythm to the narrative
And breaths to the brain.

A solid heart, built with a lifetime
Of pursued passions
Moon bathing in this hiccup of time right now

This pause is a necessary wound into my destiny
And I accept it, religiously, but with no less pain.

In this frantic train of existence,
I am longing to learn how to navigate my unknown.

Into a world of words

And yet we seem so little
Into a universe of alphabets…
Words leaning over meanings
Brushing the senses
Through poetry
And sounds

Signifying, clarifying, opening
Spaces and channels of communication
Creating stories
Describing narratives
Embarking into wonderful journeys
Of relational depths.

And words can be used to caress other people’s souls,
To affirm, to deny, to exert control,
To express, to connect, to hurt, to heal,
To break patterns, to build bridges

To lead you into depths you have yet not explored,
and to bring you home, to yourself,
To discover, among all the letters, the syllables, the phrases,
Your own rhymes…
to learn to recognise your own voiceprint and to finally speak your own language.

Saying goodbye to the day

I learnt to grieve so well
In my life, that now I tend to grieve for everything.

I grieve every day, at night, when I fight not to close my eyes
Fearing not to meet the same magic the next day.

And I grieve all the opportunities, the possibilities that each day carries with it,
I grieve all the things I haven’t done, I grieve all the moments that tomorrow will turn into memories, still beautiful, but too far from me.

I breathe, and I try to breathe in all of this, I try to bring it with me on the
Other side of the pillow
Where Morpheus always complains:
“You’re late again!”
“I was loving life a little bit more”, I say
“I was trying to steal back from time, what it has been stolen from me, I was watching the world while sleeping -a rare privilege that I always thought
Only belonged to me”…

Then I realise, I need to let this all go,
I need to learn to say goodbye
I need to take that leap of faith,
Every night, closing my eyes
And hoping to meet again the day,
The people, the things I love
After the sunrise…
And the light might be different,
But I would be the same
I would open my eyes to the world
And once again I would welcome it
Into my life.

In loving memory of David, Endo

The world will never be the same
My world will never be the same
Now that your gentle presence
Has departed from the curbs in Chorlton,
From this world
And from me.

I am grieving the time I never gave you,
I curse my life for being so stupidly busy
And for never letting me stop and really see you, as much as I would have liked it.

For so long you have been on my list
Of all the people I really wanted to get to know
And now I lost my chance
And I feel so damn poor without you
In my world.

Please, forever forgive me
I will never forget you.

My life in boxes

My life in boxes
Settled to go, to be moved
To be placed
Somewhere
Somehow
Full of memories
Some expired
Some still good to go
Some stained on my dresses
That will never go
No matter how hard I try
To wash away the pain
To make it look better
To powder the dirt with rose gold
Charm, with poetry, and beauty
Unmasking all the layers
Of the cake,
My life…
I glimpse into the box:
There they are,
All my crumpled reveries…
There is lace and plastic
Interwoven,
And withered roses
Laying on my tired ballerina shoes
And a new violin, for a broken old heart.

There is bleeding passion and breathless tiredness

There are friends, forgotten, missed, found again, loved, let go

There is love, and nostalgia, there’s my childhood sea, so beautiful and silent from so far away…

There is family, such a colourful painting

And then, in a tiny little corner
There’s a mirror
And there is me,
Sat somewhere
Wandering in wonder
Almost a stranger
To myself
And yet
Still a becoming process.

Beyond the edges

I am sitting on the edge
Of the world
Looking at people passing by,
and smiling…
And for the first time
I see the horizon of the world,
A fine, rainbow line
Made of different lives
Blended in different colours,
Feelings, experiences…
Within this horizon
I exist
And there I stand
Pushing myself to the edges
To see more
To know more
To love more,
Beyond the edges
And furthermore.