the song of the frogs

noise

The song of the frogs 

Your fear should not stop my hands

when a caress is near my fingertips

ready to explode crossing your hair

like a far  firework, the echo of a lost holiday,

the remind of a past happy joyful time.

Your interrogative eyes should not

stare at me like I was the foulest of all  fools

the one that does not know the weight

of the intrinsic value of a blast of words

said just in a moment to be left in the wind.

Heavy inheritance of a world of illusions and

disillusions, all covered with the lightness

of a not hidden superficiality of aims and hopes.

Come here, come here  summer of despair !

light of dead drunk fireflies all around escaping

 when a stone falls in the pond with a deaf sound.

Do you hear the frogs singing their dissonant song?

You so close yet so distant, caring at times

but always closed in your own mystery. 

Come here, come here don’t leave me waiting

In the middle of the seagulls’ noisy meal.

My half lifted hand insecure in a caress,

withdraws in its mortified attempt.

I do not  try to understand the reasons

I do not wonder anymore and yet I am hurt,

I should not but I can’t help a subtle pain,

crawling  sneaky along my veins,

coward,  when I am absent minded

reaching for my  heart and there stopping,

stubborn catching my breath

and taking my words away.

And you , you observe me with your

inquisitive glance like I was something exotic

coming from outer worlds and from outer galaxies,

with my charge of ironic too subtle humor

and unexpressed enigmatic poetry.

Come here, come here months of lazy intimacy,

talking like we were the only ones on this earth,

like we were the only ones to share a secret.

The unveiled truths of a cheap honesty,

the last mirror to seize the real look

 of a thousand remodeled fake beauties. 

Photographer and words Arialee Miles 

cRawLinG

NOISE

If all you can do is crawl, start crawling. ~Rumi

cRawLinG

In a nowhere land
where nothing stay untouched
under the lashing of elements
I buried my heart.

I let  fall it in a ditch
I have digged with my hands
and  filled with the
ground of my regret.

I did not turn to watch
I did not say a word,
not a farewell, determined.
I left it behind.

My heart is buried in a nowhere land
where beings without a name
scream their sorrow,
unheard cries.

I trespassed the borders,
of the no-love land,
crawling beyond  my fears
passing them and going ahead.

I am not brave but without a choice,
without help, without peace,
without a reason to survive,
without an aim and without a passion.

I found the sand in my pockets
and I filled the pit of my heart
to repair it from the bombing
without any shelter.

I built an house made of
withered branches,
of unmentionable lies and shrewd pains.
And now I live there.

Photography and words by Arialee Miles

rooms

NOISE

rooms 

There is a place in the back yard of my mind

where I keep all the retained words

and the questions I haven’t been able to put.

There is a line just in the middle of my hand

where I saw the struggling of my  heart challenging

 all the adverse conditions to get  you

There was  a time suspended in a non-time

where we used to meet part crazy and part unaware

about the pain we were going soon to inflict ourselves.

There is a room well hidden in my heart

where I built your home with foundations of trust

laid  there one by one with stubborn dedication

There was a place in the basement of your mind

where you had already decided since long ago

to plant the first seeds of the unavoidable end. 

Photography  and words Arialee Miles 

DIA DE LOS MUERTOS

NOISE

for a dear lost friend ..... 

So the rain keeps falling

over strained slightly red leaves

and all around the nature

prepares  the last lonely embrace.

A blast of wind swarms over the street

and a wet plastic bag pretends to fly

rising from the asphalt,

whirling unsure,

then suddenly after an attempt

falls down

like a pale wounded butterfly.

Your eyes,  deep and dark,

put a mute question,

nobody knows the answer.

.... leaving

NOISE

Sometimes although our burning desire to stay , is time to go and open wide our wings.

Time to go for ourselves and for the one we love, go to fly and  travel unknown routes and have something always new and always unexplored  to live and tell.

Time to go to not be  folded on ourselves and become just the last habit difficult to escape for fear to hurt, only the last pitiful lie on the altar of a warped sense of loyalty . 

And yet the longing even before we leave is strong and fills our hearts of sadness, though there is the mind which leads with  clear lucidity its implacable  analysis that makes us true to ourselves and suggests with merciless bluntness that there is not other solution but set the other and ourselves  free.

That it is time to go to not be forgotten , time to leave our shores to be remembered before it is too late. 

The invisible reasons of the heart

NOISE

Il cuore ha ragioni invisibili agli altri e procede per proprie intuizioni.
Né derive né sponde , razionali o profonde gli rendono agevole il corso .
Per i suoi tormentati percorsi tortuosi, impetuosi , difficili , ostili
è inutile impresa inseguirlo , blandirlo, attirarlo , circuirlo. 
Con la mente cercare di corrergli dietro e capirlo, di mettergli briglie, domarlo.
Il cuore ha sue strade nascoste, sue onde , sue piene e maree , correnti
navigabili fiumi sereni  o torrenti schiumosi di rabbia repressa.
Il cuore ha decisioni incostanti ha slanci a volte improvvisi , ha languide soste
precise ferrate lungo montagne dai lati scoscesi e dalle cime impervie.
Il cuore ha una regola sola, l’assenza totale di schemi  algoritmi o equazioni .

The heart has got  its invisible reasons and proceeds for its own intuitions .
Neither a sliding keel nor an rational and deep edge can ease its course.
For its tormented, meandering , rushing , difficult , hostile  journeys
is useless enterprise try to follow it , cajole it, attract it ,deceive it .
Try to run after it with the mind and understand it, to put a bridle on it, to tame it.
The heart got its hidden roads , its waves, its floods and its tides, undercurrents
navigable peaceful rivers or rushing steams of suppressed rage.
The heart got not consistent decisions , got sometimes sudden dashes, got languid halt,
it has definite railways along mountains with rugged sides and inaccessible peaks.
The heart has  got only one rule , the total absence of patterns, algorithm or equations.


Photographer and model moi :)

although black love is love ...

NOISE

Love Black

Love is not always pink and held in a candy box .

Sometimes love is black , love can have thorns and can  make us bleed .

Love can have various shapes and sometimes it can't be sized with the usual mainstream meter used to seize  conventional feelings .

Inexplicable  things we do for love, and we surprise ouselves and we astonish people around us , we do little and great acts of courage for love and  we do great gestures of craziness.

That is not craziness at all ,  yet it is the life itself lived intensely,   till the last bite of sanity, till the last drop of conscience,  at time of recklessness.

And yet it is sweet to sink in this state of elated foolishness while we close the reason out of our doors, deaf at its screams.

And we run .... and we run ...and we run .... wildly...  we run  happy towards  our pain .