Sheltered in deep abysses, enveloped
By the soft touch of translucent salted fluids,
Voluptuous fluctuating bodies of enthralling creatures
Inhabit the unscathed aquatic spheres, impishly enjoying
The uncountable marvels of spirited marine existence.

Secret currents carry turtles migrating ten
Thousand miles or more across the oceans in search
Of jellyfish and warmer waters with remoras sliding backwards,
Clinging onto them by suction as mantas pursue
Shrimps and krill before the passage of baleens.

Dolphins splash about communicating sounds, flamingo tongue
Sea snails leaving trails, of dead coral tissue in their wake. Red
Vase sponge copiously producing slime as squids swim by,
Focusing their prominent eyes on targets while colourful crabs
Walk sideways, foraging for small, spiny, globular urchins.

Sneaky sharks finely tune electromagnetic sensors marked
By pits on their snouts to detect, slight muscular movements,
Down to heartbeats of preys, fighting battles with flying hawks
Over penguins, and trumpetfish align themselves with other
Vertical objects and sea stars, regenerate lost body parts.

Moving as one, schools of sweetlips explore accompanied
By devoted cleaner wrasses grooming them to keep
Their skin and mouths free of infection-causing parasites.
All play the game, of balance and harmony in the underworld,
While mermaids travel along the few remaining vessels of

Stranded humans in quest of land.

[Featured painting: Lleno de colores by Felix Murillo, 2014]


Inexistent emptiness

In darkness the absence of light sparkles
Man’s reflection on notions of nothingness.
Empty space ultimately devoided of purpose
As space unhosting objects loses function.

Empty minds deprived of thoughts and imagination,
Unable of creation. Empty bodies ceasing to pump
Blood where it belongs, for hearts to beat, life to be.
Psychopomps allegedly escorting vestiges beyond.

Yet in nothing eyes can witness is there Nothing,
Always Something invading sight with blinding colours.
Beyond sight, perceptions of power, particles in motion,
Detecting forces playing games to challenge the reflection.

In space, in mind, in body, emptiness does not exist.

[Featured painting: Emptiness 4535 by Marcela Jardon, @saatchiart]

Storing Truth

As a child I struggled many a time
With notions of rights and wrongs,
Searching in the voice of parents
Through approval and scolding
Lessons to identify misconducts.

As an adolescent I began to challenge
Conventional behaviours striving
To find my peers’ admiration, long
Considerations over good and evil
To become someone deserving high regards.

Entering adulthood I withdrew from the gaze
Of others as no one knew who I was and who
I intended to grow into, making my own rules,
Relying on instincts to drive, religious
And philosophical reflections to call mine.

Now that I am half way through I realise
Each and every human being stores
In the depths of its consciousness a truth
No mask can hide and no one can deny.
Keys to the glorification of humankind,

Being faithful to oneself by living
In the light of love, contagiously spreading
The energy of kindness, getting rid of lacerating
Desires of vengeance, retaliations for our own
Frustrations, based on illogical self-contempt.

As I ponder on justice I have ceased to dwell,
Eye for an eye or turn the other cheek,
As the illuminated essence within me
Inevitably resolve to peace. No revenge serves
Any purpose if not that of perpetrating evil

To the detriment of humanity as a whole.

[Featured painting: Lady Justice by Salvador Dali, 1977]


We surprise ourselves with the ability to feel
Emotions run so deep in our veins, swallowing
Us into the abysses of irrationality, casting
Us throughout oceans filled with promises,
High hopes and expectations, dreams of wild
Currents tearing us apart, tempests at sea,

Shipwrecks adrift.

Elevated by the nobility we assign to devotion,
Love posing as the commander of the vessel
Without whom the vessel sinks, is not eternal
And sets conditions we must abide by, as mutiny
Is severely reprimanded, punishment resulting
In the atrocities inflicted by his opponent.

Crushed by the humiliation of spontaneous aversion,
Hate passes off as the single solution, the only feeling
Able to replace our inability to love that which we now


[Featured painting: Warrior and the maiden (or Love and Hate) by Elin Bogomolnik, 2012 @saatchiart]

My black strong never lover

From my thoughts to my lips and in my veins,
I am sickly besotted with you. Without you
I’m in pain. I crave for you from dawn to dusk,
Finding relief only in my slumbers, when I dream
Of others, not of you.

For you don’t pertain to my hours of darkness,
There are limits to what you can give. When you sleep
With me I don’t, I fidget and tremble, toss and turn
In bed as you flow right through me provoking shivers.
I hence lie without you, longing to awake.

When I do rise to the morning beams penetrating
My windows overpoweringly, my mind gallops towards
You commanding my feet to follow, my eyes to find you.
You are there. You are always there. Faithfully waiting
For me where I left you.

Your loyalty besieges me and I surrender to the smell
Of your strong black hot body, yearning for you taste,
Gulping your exotic essence to the last drop, smoking
Cigarettes before, during and after our ritual intercourse.
I say I love you, they are worried I’m addicted to you.

The last time we accidentally drifted apart I was afraid.
Four days without you drove me insane, perennially drenched
In a cold sweat, devastated by stomach cramps and panic
Attacks, feeling ill beyond remedy. The doctor sentenced
I was suffering from withdrawal symptoms and I had to be

Strong. I ignored him and came running back to you
Promising I would never live you again, toying with
Your powdery texture slipping through my fingers,
Inebriated by your vapours as your liquid substance
Produces that oh-so-familiar gurgling noise.

[On Coffee] [Featured painting: Girl with bird – coffee paintings – Michael Aaron Williams]

Babel Thoughts

Anthropology suggests there was a time
When no communication was spoken by men,
Merely embryonic sounds to express
Primitive thoughts, until development called
For evolution to inspire, words holding meaning.

Religion narrates archaic stories of Babel,
Of a common tongue bonding civilisations
Building a Tower, until the Lord witnessed
The limitless ability of a unified humanity and decided,
To confuse their speech to disunite them.

Esotericism puts forth the ancient possibility
Of a coalescing language to be found in telepathy,
Unable to hide, disguise or lie, until men felt
The need to do so, creating lemmas that would conceal
Their real intentions and their true self.

Now if someone in English is a person and no one
Is nobody, and in Italian the someone is a persona
And the nobody is nessuno, when the French call both
The someone and the nobody personne, what does it do

To the understanding of each other?

[Featured painting: Tower of Babel by Abel Grimmer, (1570-1619) @Christies]

From the Bible: Genesis 11:7 (6) The LORD said, “Behold, they are one people, and they all have the same language. And this is what they began to do, and now nothing which they purpose to do will be impossible for them. (7) Come, let Us go down and there confuse their language, so that they will not understand one another’s speech.” (8) So the LORD scattered them abroad from there over the face of the whole earth; and they stopped building the city.

The Dealer

The place was the unexpected carefree host
Of several tipsy nights wetted
By friendly toasts and temporary infatuations,
Lasting the duration granted
By gulping red clepsydras measuring
Time with the flow of inebriating substances.

My passion alas soon drove to the abolishment
Of such street hours of darkness to the benefit
Of clarity, concentration and sobriety,
For the unfolding of a novel awaiting
Virtual carbon particles to stain
Imaginary paper pages.

The place hence became my daylight salon,
Betaking myself to it, a necessary resolution
To having a semblance of social life, a foot
In the “real” world, while taking a compulsory break
From self-relegation to the seclusion
Of my private abode and imagination.

The sun, a spotlight directed on the thespians,
Lifting the nocturnal curtains, to unveil their act.
The stage, a familiar space for adult orphans,
Searching in Bacchus casual company.
Amongst the heterogeneous lot, a tall, big-lipped
Man, plays reminiscences of Tambourines.

His wide smile uncovers chipped white teeth,
Clashing with the colour of his skin.
The first time I saw him he was giddily bragging
Of recent dates made of sandwiches eaten
Sheltering from heat, in the fresh vegetable department
Of the discount down the road, from his apartment.

Incredulously I believed him, until he told me not to,
As of then he would be, my new befitted friend.
The big time dealer serving the entire region,
Always there when you need him,
To take care of the kids or escort you to the dentist
When in pain and to the other side of the city.

Notorious for going out of his way for others,
Generous with time, kind words, smiles and money,
His job does not define him yet completes
The spreading euphoria his presence bestows
Upon those who look for him or those
Who simply stumble into him, by chance.

[Featured painting: Dustheads by Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1982]