THE WAIT

The larva slowly turns to pupa
It will metamorphose.Awaiting its final transformation
Ugly ;lifeless, it spins its dreams
Awaiting the miracle
He too lingers in the valley of lepers
Praying for the one who will wash him clean
Give him a new life
A difficult birth ; he knows
Of infinite pain
He is prepared for a lifelong gestation
To finally sail to the island of lost dreams
At the moment when the pupa
B-R-E-A-K-S
Into all its colours.

Come...

You remain blue like a blindfly
The River has returned to its
Untraced womb
A face, pale, beholding angst to its
forehead, he's sky
As is not water or shadow of an
anonymous tomb
Suspicion as the reverse side of
one same coin
A coin as a proposed pact, But fact
that is true as sand
The light far from riverside and an
empty hand
Poetry is its name
I call it by its name, I do
Call it again, waving my hand
Come light up loads of work;
Unfinished
Blind fly, and its return back home
Unleash your blues to achieve
An exile, a forest, conceived in pain
Come, light up this earth, unrest
Come, light up this womb, again.