Mirror

Was checking out the mirror,
That other day …
Or checking in,
It doesn’t matter …
For once you do it as I say
Things cannot get more slim
Nor fatter.

Was checking out the mirror every time,
And then turned back as guilty of a crime.
Felt proud to mark a smile on the list,
And leave with it suspended on my fist.

A piece of chalk,
Set off to talk.
Cascade of sand,
In the wrong hand.

And dry …
Like a hot summer’s sky.

They tell me: smile, with a cheese,
Like this: two muscles, just a squeeze,
But how do you make those eyes to light
For all who come by to stop at the sight.

And then, to the mirror, I turn my back
The glass, calls for me, and I hear one crack,
I just want to look at the world all around,
The streets, and the markets, of people abound.

A smile on the run …
A child is now playing.
One toy, grab for fun!
Come old man, he’s saying.

He takes his car,
And rolls it on the sand.
I look bizarre,
He puts it in my hand.

Behind his smile, there grows a tiny tear,
I’m worried … What is wrong my dear?
His dad has died, was driving … boom and crash
Left him to play … alone … in dust and trash.

He takes his car,
And rolls it on the sand.
I look bizarre,
He puts it in my hand.

He asks me: drive!
Stay safe, don’t crash!
And please arrive,
Bring hope in trash!

What? Me? Old man?

A piece of chalk,
Set off to talk.
Cascade of sand,
In the wrong hand.

And dry …
Like a hot summer’s sky.

It starts to rain,
I’m filled with pain.
The sun comes back,
I hear glass crack.
It leaves me with a crown,
A rainbow upside down.

And then it hit me, sudden, loud and strong,
The reason why his father crashed:
Was checking out the mirror for too long…

Was checking out the mirror, the other day,
No point in going there again,
For the best mirror that I have,
Is looking back at me.
And I would give the freedom of the skies,
To find myself reflected in your eyes.

Manifesto of independence from the weather

Beyond the green of grass,
a sea of gray …
the grim of grave
where lay his great grandfather.

Dressed like a groom,
his beard full grown,
a gray sign of time past.

The church clock beats midnight,
in Greenwhich time,
and sounds the gravest hour.

On top,
a lost sheep is grazing in the grass,
thinking in dreams of green.
The groom below,
the gray between,
the grave on top,
forgotten …

It’s green or gray,
groom or grandfather,
to grow, to grave,
the sheepless grass,
or grazing fast.

Your day,
your choice,
your say,
your voice!