I store measured meanings
all definitions neatly arranged in drawers,
to calm the mind and heart.

I see with human eyes,  
carefully tracing the pulse of the planet.
In this apparent chaos, a strict order reigns.

In the cycles of the nightly day and daily night,
the same thoughts come to me like wistful friends,
longing to bridge micro and macro scales,
to merge into oneness.

Waiting in line for health,
I heard that time is relative.
What insightful words
shift meaning
in different contexts.

Trees, animals, human beings—
Each one perceives the flow of time
through a different lens…

If I were a butterfly
its three weeks would be my entire life.
How sad it is that
I cannot truly appreciate
a single second of a butterfly’s day.
Its rhythm moves beyond my awareness.

To people, Eternity is a never-ending story
of unrecognized fields of unknown space.
To ethereal, thoughtful giants
just a fleeting instant,
the blink of the universe
across the slender strait.

I can whisper or scream,
cry, laugh,
or remain silent for years,
but on a grander scale,
it will be nothing more than
a dainty breath of spring wind.

So please don’t be upset with me
that I can’t feel the same as you do now.
To you,
this is the endless painful abyss.
To me,
it’s just a passing memory
of deep night vanishing
into a new dawn of becoming.

The water was crystalline and cold
I danced with you in a crushing grip
and distant disconnection.

I held on to you—
in an illusory intimacy,
and deafening silence,
in the moments of fulfillment,
in the endless hours of isolation.

It was my first dance—
chosen with open eyes.
Youth tames wild rivers,
but the swirling depths take away
strength, naivety,
and wonder.

I persisted in stubbornness for years,
suspended between the worlds—
like a stone swallowed by a waterfall
at first, looking into an icy void
then into the warm sun,
convincing myself
I could heal something,
never having been whole.

Uncertain of what was
much closer to me—
my persistence
or my yearning
for what would never come to be.

Then the river tore me from the shore
carried me far away.

Did I ever have a choice?

The hardest thing
is to say goodbye to what
was never real.

This dance by the waterfall’s edge
will remain the only dance of my life.
I know I don’t want to be trapped
in the cold waters rushing toward
the abyss.

That night in my dream
I saw the table, sheets of paper,
pens scattered all around.

I sat down to write,
like many nights before.
I picked a pen and another,
but both ran out of ink.

The voices fell silent.
I sat alone in my room,
calm and surprisingly happy
watching the black sky
not as scary as before.

I thought of the sleepless hours,
spent chasing words until dawn,
afraid that something might go wrong
in a nebulous state of mind.

In the dim light of the lamp,
I raised a ladder
to my inner world.
That night,
I felt relief.
I told myself,
Why not?

If I couldn’t write I would rest—
without tension
without the nasty inner critic.

When my pens finally run dry,
It won’t be my unhappy end.
Just another phase.

Thank you, my Intuition,
for inspiration,
your soft, invisible voice
carried me to alternate worlds.
Challenging, yet meaningful.

My kingdom is built with
words, signs, powerful speeches,
sinister sentences, unspoken spells.

When you utter the first word,
you trace or carve a symbol in the air,
you are mine and mine alone.

Rationalizing, defending, and denying—
You detach, wrapping in theories
convincing yourself
that you possess a unique power.

You tear up your contracts,
scribbling dissonant manifestos.
You bite into my subtle meanings,
shouting at me in frustration.

I am the one who is—
the Realm of Ever-Shifting Elements.

When you return to me exposed,
opaque to others,
I am safe and dangerous—
I am your freedom
within endless captivity.

I won’t look into your eyes,
you don’t see mine.
We don’t hear our voices.
Our trust will never be whole.

My thoughts flow too fast to catch;
language is limited.
I’m a small, whispering brook
in a forgotten forest.
Your reflections are vast oceans
that you tame like wild animals.

Here I am, a foreigner among concepts.
I want to know the truth about who I am,
but my tired hands and heavy head,
no longer work as they did before.

You asked for an opinion.
But how could I give one?
I’m behind cold glass,
trying to piece together flashbacks
of who I was just an hour ago.

This world is so unpredictable, frenetic.
I see people everywhere,
their plans left at the bus stop,
driven by the will to survive.
An addictive vortex of emotions draws us in
as fears fuel the planned chaos.

We are living now in the mirror world.
Everything is reversed.
Here, the victims must apologize
to their oppressors.

How could I speak to them about peace and values?
I try to offer a simple smile to cheer up,
to keep my mind sane.
I’m a silent voice in rough waters.

In your eyes, I see my own.
I waited so long
for your presence to become real.

In that crucial moment,
I felt something
changing my awareness,
and the soundless vessels were filled
with joyful abundance—
colored by
pain and sadness
that time goes so fast
in underrated moments.

Materializing all these silent dreams,
this one little girl who is growing,
watching me with defenseless trust
like nobody has before.
Gestures, smiles, brief anger, and talks—
I gather them in endless memory.

Sweet Melody, my Purpose
from the first breath,
you chose me,
and I felt beautifully complete.

I know that a real journey
begins through terra incognita
Every day is surprisingly different.
I accept with relief my passing.
I see your blooming wisdom
in thinking smiles, and authentic recognition.

My Daughter, I want to give  
as much love and acceptance as you need.
Taking your hand and letting you go
when you’re ready
to walk into life on your own—
watching the indigo sky.
Breathing freely, without anxiety.
After each fall, another resurrection comes.

I am here, I hope to stay a long while
to finally return to my last home,
without fear, with some tears.
Please, keep embracing this existence
with good and lost people around.
Be sure that I will smile
in your still-beating heart
giving you warmth.
.

In this ceaseless, surprising journey,
it seems unthinkable
that you could ever flicker out.

You drift through thoughts,
piercing the event horizon,
touching the impossible,
deflecting off the wall.

You turn back along cosmic paths,
your photons comprehend
the nature of who we are—
a sum of chance and fate,
woven into living threads,
floating endlessly
in the tender night.

I cut through realities
like a slow-moving train,
seeing chess masters, victims,
silent witnesses
drowning in dense air.

From a dim-lit corner
I see those who run
breathing in danger.
Scattered shreds of information
stick to my head.

Precognition is
riddled with blurry spoilers.
Too vague to hold,
too sharp to ignore.
One girl was saved.
The boy? I sensed the loss
but not the name.
Bitter ineffability.
I draw words from an old well.

I wish my visions
were just a nightmare—
not incarnations
of a day yet to come or not.
The pictures wrench at my veins,
like dulled knives
playing a discordant melody.
Only a clear mind can save me.

I rebel in the silent scream,
clenching my hands
smiling slightly—
just enough
so others don’t see my fear.
The heavy drift of solitude
between reality and possibility…
Stubborn time bends,
refusing to be linear.
Am I still here…
or nothing but a vanishing sound?

Oh, my dearest Egooooo!
When you can’t squeeze through the door,
so immense and entitled,
I tell myself,
“That’s enough!”
No more confetti and fireworks!
Haunting me over a lost chance.

The Magnificence of Doubt—
what if I were…
Soundless compliments
only to be pinched and ignored later.

From now on,
I celebrate my mediocre greatness
with a crown of fool’s gold on my head…
yet throne-less.

Some falls, invisible success,
and unfulfilled hopes,
which, surprisingly,
made me stronger.

Oh, the Irony of fate!
All these sleepless nights
for this Wisdom?!

Does the water reflect a piece of the sky?
In the photo I took,
I see the double transformation—
sky,
water,
digitalization.

One thought wrapped in excess words
fails to reveal stillness or truth.

It exists and doesn’t—
just one path in what we interpret.

Certainty distorts facts.
Time tangles itself.

A timeline slipping unnoticed
between belief and seductive hypnosis.

What was once conviction fades into a mirage.
Unveiled words build unyielding walls.
Communication is lost
the moment before the first word
is spoken.

Come to me, human child.
I keep your dreams safe
from all your nightmares.

Don’t be afraid of monsters—
here, there is nothing more
than an immense air of relief.

When night falls,
the threshold of the void will open.

Your story,
scattered across countless pages,
millions of thoughts never unveiled.

Fly higher and higher—
to escape the weight of pain.

When the day awakens
you will not be the same.

So vulnerable,
adrift from the material world,
wrapped in heavy, metallic skin.

Please be kind to yourself.

Beyond time and space, sleep well,
suspended in the abyss that gives you strength.

It’s hard to tell myself,
that I'm nothing more than
a collection of possibilities.

I judge myself for my feelings,
I restrict my attitude to formality,
to avoid being hurt.

When I think that I am above,
comprehensible, intellectual…
I feel immersed in cold waters,
floating on the surface of my thoughts.

I accept and reject what the world offers me.
I express concepts to peel off
a layer of myself,
until reaching the black core.

I’m just afraid to swim on my back
not to sink into the soft mud.
My muscles are numbing under gravity.

I don’t want to return to my mental cage.
Hide again? Pretend?
Yes, I think I’m closer to myself
than I could have imagined.

When bad things happen, where are the people?
A man fights alone in silent despair,
while laughter and screaming echo through the void.
Indifferent voices suffocate the heavy air.

The window for change will open,
but they waste another chance in the cold.
In rooms of power, apathy keeps growing.
Psychedelic visions masquerade as the truth

They gamble and sell domains.
Those for whom ideas matter most
are led to the pyre, to oblivion.
Human systems are shifting.

So, it’s time for another soulless game
for the inevitable castling.  
As the tower and the king,
sharing the power, they dance wildly.

Human beings
completely intricate—
distorted, subtle, direct, ironic,
melancholic, and other adjectives…
Not as clearly defined and innovative as their works.

In transcending the mirage,
longing for fulfillment,
made from the same clay,
the same flesh and bones.

They were born and still live,
sometimes, they pass away.

In the marketplace of lost illusions,
unwanted experiences—
transforming, shaping the messages
received from the Looking Glass World.
Seeking a new idea, like an exotic flavor—
to remember, to forget, to be angry,
to reflect, to love, to hate, to be loved.

And all of this for something so elusive,
to make life more tender.
Their fate was decided before
they could ever think...
And for what?

To laugh, to cry,
to be safe or stoic,
and to touch this strange structure.

Losing grip on reality,
without balance,
as they used to say.

I’m already on a dizzying poetic carousel,
with one foot in my normal life,
and one hand in virtual poetry.

Every time I recognize this feeling
in the tonality of deeply shifting sounds...
The words start to flow—
so naïve,
with illogical convictions
not to doubt.

I think I’m in trouble,
but I smile at this joyful,
passing state of thought.
Utopia is Utopia, meant not to exist—
It’s a controlled illusion, like a sedative.

I can go there and return
in a millisecond of a human thought.
Creating alternative worlds,
following the traces
of a tender yet aching life.
It keeps me, for a moment, feeling
so vast, deep, and complete.

Outside, I’m so distant from games.
Sometimes I don’t even remember
the language I used to speak.
Unfamiliar words come to me
like a flashback, like déjà vu...
Finally, to recognize where I exist—
in the present moment, in real
circumstances, assumptions.

This is not a bizarre illness
to try to understand…
My reflections inside are still safe.
I just hold every shattered human soul,
seeing them without judgment,
without control…
This is my quiet, ephemeral way
to set compassion free.

Anxiety before anxiety,
sorrow before sorrow,
word before word.
I think it will arrive sooner
than I expected…

Had I felt differently?
Had I known better?
That “thing” was imprinted
on the heart of each child
before it was forgotten.

The Z boson? A particle of God?
Inner awareness?
Lightness and compassion
screaming: keep going!
Forgiveness is a gift
for healing.

I prefer to withdraw.
Foreseeing the future
is too painful.

I feel safe in my inertia,
my comfort zone, not acting
but that intrusive voice
keeps shouting: don’t stop!

If it weren’t the fear of fearing,
sorrow before sorrow,
word before word…
They don’t bother me anymore.
For different circumstances,
I’m ready now.

In troubled times, eruptions split the sky.
When the two cosmic lines converge,
the technological order unveils itself.

The cycle repeats in another scene,
endlessly turning.
Don’t lend it your memories, Ulisses.

The door of the Panopticon is crossed.
The glass, soundless, shatters.
Tomorrow dissolves into a quantum chance,
screaming conflicting images.

Don’t be lost in lonely silence.
Let go of melancholy.
Come back home, to the real people,
where hope lingers despite the inky fog.
There, you will feel better.

I’m a barbarian in a woman’s shape.
I stomp into discourse with heavy steps.
Driven by impulse, twisting like switchbacks.

There are so many narratives...
With one hand, I hold a megaphone to my mouth.
With the other hand, from my heart, from my head,
I pull out jagged digressions and awkward arguments.

If I could weave just one logical thread
to see a common perspective,
to stop interpreting…

I would stand tall
on the pedestal of thorny incidents,
inept appointments, yet proud
that I would finally catch myself.

I know, I can only dream of
patiently knitting rushing words together.
I can’t stitch these threads into
a colored, beautiful patchwork,
that could give some warmth to the quandary,
or as a cover for chronic nostalgia.

Meanwhile,
within the conventions of social dreaming
I tilt my head from side to side
Asking myself with incredulity,
How is it possible that the voice
screaming inside me
sounds so weak and dull?

Her soul was torn apart
into a dozen shreds.
How would she sew it up?
Such pieces couldn’t be stitched together again.
And it was such a beautiful, pastel-colored dress.
There was everything in her—
The desire to create,
First love,
and everything that could yet happen.
Only trembling hands,  
emptiness, fear, dry throat
and astonishment
that what had just happened
was merely a distant hour.
She wanted to return to her mother,
but she already knew the end
was coming on that frosty morning.
That girl would never come back to herself.

I dwell on thoughts,
I examine the sum of my experiences,
Sometimes, I spit out extreme emotions.
I search in vain for something common.
I observe the struggles of all conscious beings,
looking for a universal language
that unites rather than divides.
I know…
I won't be able to ...
I won't find...

Has everything already been said or written?
Fortunately, the sun is still there,
watching over me.
Its light always finds its way
to attract my soul like a magnet
calming gently
agitated states of consciousness…

Palabras en prisa,
llamadas por auriculares
Haciendo la compra,
Recogiendo el aliento tras la coma
Convencidos de que la multitarea
Resuelve nuestros difíciles momentos
Esperamos los futuros ahorros
de los minutos perdidos.
Alertas, tiempo, cartas virtuales,
¿De hecho, quién tiene razón en esta muchedumbre?
¿Los que están gritando cada vez más fuerte o
los que siguen teniendo sus voces calladas?
Solo la Tierra parece mantener su tiempo,
Adagio, girando alrededor de sí misma.
Como si siempre fuera independiente.
Desde lejos tan tranquila, celeste y acogedora
Parece ser imperturbable.
El planeta elipsoidal
Dispuesto a ser habitado para siempre.

Somebody knocked at his window.
It was a dull, haunting sound.

Black tar filled a fearful, splintered mirror.
Something invisible touched his scruff.

That was a day, but the light faded into the night.
A cacophony of whispers shrouds his fearful heart.

It was so good, it was all right, as a sweet lullaby…
Who let a black Tesseract of doubt into his mind?

Exposed to both sides of black-and-white magicians,
playing their deceptive songs, their juggling tricks.

The human weeps for what could have been—
for devouring hunger, unfinished great plans…

Let him complete his painful catharsis,
let salty tears touch these deep wounds.

But when the next day comes,
tell him there are many more lost out there…

You know the truth: hell is hiding
in the black Tesseract of our heads and hearts…

Gaia

I remember the warm autumn's bare soil,
the aftermath of the harvest.

The setting sun touched my shape, and
I pressed my ear to the ground.

My heart was beating so fast.
The Earth’s rhythms were so gentle and calming.

The warmth and relaxing grounding
whispered a subtle narration that I can’t recall.

The wind sang the future, and I, lying on the earth,
I listened to the past, closed in the dust of past generations.

How comforting is this echo of my childhood
It gave me strength and conviction.

I took the right path with the sun, wind, and soil.
The freedom of my narration.

We are dreaming—
you and I,
and perhaps she, maybe he.

Thinking that blissful encounter
has taken place,
shaping us like a sweet
and gentle morning breeze

Never again will any rejection
cause pain,
because that appointment
has taken place.

Blessed are those who have met
and blessed are those who
still wait,
in the state of sweet elevation.

She lost thin hair
for worries.
The bones shrank
without stunning pain.
Body hunched
but still working.

Seeing lost angels
passing through,
dark labyrinths,
an alley of exiles.
No artifacts, no money
no fame…

So, why does she act
as if it belongs to her
all the tangy sweet world
in royal dominion?

She loves …
almost everyone
without any love.

Oh, this invisible,
subtle tenderness!
Too quiet to be spotted
by deafening loudness.

Under my eyelids,
small and large, hidden feelings.
They are pinching, twisting,
healing me.

But when I open my eyes,
everything begins anew.
The train cuts through reality
flowing in a big hurry.
This is my private driving force.

The nod of ironic thoughts
bursts inside implicit words.
Welcome my smile-finally
you have appeared!
My missed special guest.

Now, everything is fine.
I only enjoy a comic mood.
It was too serious and heavy
So, I switch off my mode:
Complicating Even Simple
I choose to jump in a rumpled glory
between spicy, witty meanings.

Seeing the raindrops
meet a passing existence,
in limpid tears

To close emotions tightly?
A broken mosaic,
it’s hard to fix.
It's better not to risk another fall.

Tears are gone,
the eyes are empty,
like a vast desert,
with blue-black flashes of memory,
hitting him out of control.

Life appears and disappears
in the cells of the body.
Emotions?
He can't feel it anymore.
There’s too much pain.

When the last wound heals,
he will pass through life
as a New Automatic Person.
Anesthetized to all sensations,
Although deep down,
he would like to feel
something again.

Three wheels:
The past and the future contain today.
I’ve forgotten what I wanted.
What mattered slipped away quietly.
I’m seeing the particle of bliss
in the fulfilled gaze of the women
from the old photograph.

Enigmatic smiles,
on tired faces.
How do they do it?
The apparent peace with
the fleeting triumph of lightness.
I would like to take off all my desires,
to find a moment of mental rest
but my valley of thoughts is still waiting
for my own,
a long-awaited miracle.