Unsoldered
A paroxysm, an electroshock
For two eyes river and sand.
A metal sculpture sheared at the plinth
And comes the disorder of the unsoldered.
The electrocardiogram failed.
Heartful pupils now retracted.
Poison, letters, leaves and flowers
Haven’t hearkened the knell.
Silky wool or rough leather,
Cannot tell heaven from hell.
Isolation
There is a gradual sense of isolation
When the darkness steals the colors away.
The sketches start to fade, and the hand holding the brush
Scribbles abstract sand for the visitors.
The shaking hand aims at the canvas
Fueled by the drawing of a wine jar.
It turns the paint into a double blind exhibition
And reality becomes a fleeing bird.
The contour of the canvas becomes blurry
As acrylic’s blood stains the wall.
A chess board with different games and different rules.
Countless labels and partial observations,
For an undecipherable rationalization
The art then captures its creator.
It locks him in a cage and enslaves him.
He becomes enslaved to his wrist moving wild.
He becomes enslaved to the visitor’s estrangement,
Before becoming enslaved to his ownself.
Fragments
Rocks are steady, standing tall, fragile,
Rising toward the light, bending.
For every piece of dust and every doubt,
For the wind eroding its surface it stands with
Terror.
With terror of the stones on the ground,
Of its memory of the sand and how bitter it tastes.
How harsh are the fragments to collect, the fragments in its sight
when he gets lost in its own self. In every fragment of
millions of years: hammered, touched, whispered and screamed
and the animals it pierced and the birds it caressed
is it made of rock or is it made of flesh and bones
and every piece falling is numbing its hearing and its sight
losing the senses finding its way through a kaleidoscope
rather seasick than a peaceful rise toward the light,
he barely sees the light.
And the rock aiming to rise collects pieces on its fall,
in between light and darkness
Hope, Faith,
For God have mercy on his soul.
Hands joined to walk the way with
arms stretching up for forgiveness and power
to find the fuel articulating its limbs
to stand, to see, and to embrace.
Eyelids hiding a river when its gaze
stares at a smile of the rawest beauty,
protecting it like its own child
while seeking magnets to collect fragments
in those eyes and what they mirror.
Thorns are planted in the flesh
for the pain will end the pain
May God have mercy on his soul.
If an angel offered its wings
will the fragments of his hands resolder
to make it free?
May it heal the pain and let the little bird fly
to the sky and through the clouds,
Toward the sun, toward the storm and the rain,
for its weight does not tear its feathers
and the eternal bliss on its face can see forward,
For its laugh does not fade
when Satan wants to burry its chant.