Exercise of happiness

Your sight throbs into my eyes
like the flame that gives sense to the match.
It scratched sweetly my numb soul.
A moment of wonder, a bitter flicker
gathers into the heat of embers.
The flame is born and grows into a blaze.
It floods me slowly, it consumes me
and I burn like a match, slowly but incandescent.
And I wait in flames and I melt waiting.
But time is flowing through my veins lento
not bringing anything I wished.
The fire is ill, fight is dieing.
A thin serpent-like thread of smoke
reminds ostentatiously everything.
A breeze transforms it into history.
I burnt like a match,
all that is left is ashes.

11^th of March, 1999

<< Previous | Back to summary | Next >>