Mauro Montacchiesi

MY BOHEMIAN HEART

To you, I turn,

I implore you,

my bohemian heart.

Trusted friend,

precious ruby.

I ask you to sprinkle me

with psychedelic rays of the sun,

with neroli orange blossoms.

I ask you to pace the breath of existence

so that I may consume it with more tenuous vigor.

I beg you to push away the moment

of the last battle.

Fate casts the slime

on the curtain of life.

It is almost a utopia

to put order

among the memories of the past,

calculate

the impervious climb to Golgotha,

the waivers with the aroma of absinthe,

the lost affection,

entwined

in the fluid arabesques of time.

And then I realize that you,

my bohemian heart,

trusted friend,

precious ruby,

warmest love,

you still crave.

Tonight, I am stunned,

anodyne,

in the din of silence.

My fingers reach out,

toward imaginary smiling lips.

It is a transcendent epiphany,

amid dim glimpses of the moon,

and then higher still,

among evanescent filigrees of stars.

I try to awaken the seconds

sleeping in the pain-killing river Lete,

waiting for the return

of kisses eclipsed

in the treasure chest of years,

lost in the surf of oblivion.

My bohemian heart,

my most trusted friend,

precious ruby,

as metaphysical glissando of a harp,

away faded is the bohemian life

with its green age,

mad and gypsy.

How fortunate,

however,

to have it,

albeit with a frenzy of color,

savored.

 

 

 

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Mauro Montacchiesi.
Published on e-Stories.org on 10.09.2014.

 
 

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