Outsiders who aren’t strangers
More familiar than far friends,
More presents even if absents,
Alive in thoughts,
They act and interact,
On parallel axis,
They meet and they graze,
And they depart,
Persuaded that
The nothing
Will last forever.
Wildly infatuated with ideas,
Drunk with words
They continue to interweave
Transient relations,
Illusions which cannot be disregarded,
Manipulations,
Mind subjections,
Self deceptions.
They embellish the life
Like a saint patron,
With pinchbecks and jewels,
They disguise the days,
They shuffle cards,
So well acquainted
With their own fictions,
With the compulsion to repeat
That the parallel is real,
And the false becomes true,
In the reality of their self knowledge.
They are in pain,
Vulnerable tools
Of others’ strength,
Unwitting victims
Of haughty bondages,
Sudden refusals,
Unjustified desertions,
Unforeseen disappearances,
Wilful deceptions.
They love,
Hanging themselves
By a thread
Of abandoned trust ,
Of aware blindness,
Of instinctive relief
To a concealed wretchedness.
And they love,
It seems paradoxical,
But they love
With deep love
And unreserved devotion,
Cause not mediate
By physical attraction ,
Not upset by competition.
They look for each other,
With trust they rely
On the unknown
Of a sign,
In the insecurity
Of the next day
In the hazard ,
In the uneasiness.
Benefited from the remoteness,
Held by the nocturnal intimacy
Or by the secrecy
Of a stolen morning,
They tell each other the soul,
They narrate each others’ dreams,
Soothe each others’ pains
Of stinging disappointments,
And plunged in
Overpowering passions
They exchange promises
They know they won’t keep.
Then they run away,
Suddenly they disappear
Shades in the shadow
They go back in the limbo,
In the blurred background ,
Souls to rebuild,
In a snare,
Identity to fill up
With other others’ lived
Hunting again
And again,
To outline a past
A simulacrum of credibility,
To try another game
Pretend another love,
And feel
A shiver
Again.
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