Soneto Soltero


Imprisoning the alphabet inside my lips
Stills my mind from stealing your divinest image
To tranquilize my desire, my silent heart weeps
In oblivion, its prison cell is a sad cage;
Litanies of sshhh waking my ticking heartbeat,
Lulling already when the roaring thunder clapped
Like a dictator with feet pounding, on his seat,
Ordering, for lovers are servants not to stop,
Vainly trying to surrender to the whisper
Etherized on the ears to invent lexicons
Ere the simulacrum of words starts to slumber
Gently to shape meanings as the passion dawns;
As my heart is freed, silence is then locked inside
Now fear is hushed as I walk the aisle as your bride.

* * *
A Meed
By April Mae Berza

(Inspired by an unknown poet)

Let me keep on describing things
to be sure they once happened
for it would be silenced soon,
surrendered by memory, failing in History.

The way it all went is the only way
to tell it with every detail
without the slightest fingerprint of fiction
about the beautiful
traces still in my poetic memory,
in my poetic existence.

There are silent stories behind every window
but the window of the soul sees
the farthest,
the furthest.
My own windows are wide
opened when I been there. Only I have in mine
closet closed it.
Little conviction.
Big understanding.

It is it I hide in my closet long time ago
hardly I forget to remember.

Still pinching my glowing cheeks to be
certain I am fully awake,
full consciousness
marking out the traces with delight
when it all happened
where it all happened
why it all happened
how it all happened.

I am the only who
who happened at all.
Other eyes might tell it
different but it is my eyes.
It is my eyes.

It is more of a fish,
a fish swimming in the pond
near your fishing rod, near your bait.
Whistling a happy song, you bow
down to look if there is something,
something tugging you, tugging your bait.
Alarmed, you tried to get in control of it,
to hold it on, tightly
gripping on the handle of the fishing rod.
The next minute, it is all gone
into the silent pond, without a trace
and you try and you fail
to catch the moment gone,
the adventure it unfolds before your eyes,
the thrill to catch something,
the fish fighting for its life
gone with the wind, even before you remember
you are a hermit, once more.

It is in front of you but you are not in front of it.
Just like that.


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