My granny’s feast

Come. Get in. Sit. Look. Smell. Eat. Mmmmmh… The occasion is fit. Granny serves a feast. Those days are gone. She’s no longer there. Shhhhhhh… Be strong and go on. The granny’d say: dare!   By Luca Arnaldo Read more texts by this author

A lovely afternoon that turned into hell at 5:30pm

He was sitting on a bench in the street, in his hand there was a book, heavy with thousands of words and heavy like the traffic of thoughts he had in his mind. The morbid traffic was there to stay. He had no hurry. He was just looking. He saw hundreds of cars, and inside…

Ephemeral

Originally posted in Spanish on our site Letras & Poesía Like a fleeting blow that knocks your temples, the moment disappears just far away, unreachable, unreal, preterite tense. Unyielding reason that lives so quickly, so breathless as a frigid kiss that floods your soul for a second. That shade of voice is gone, that caress bestowed…

I wish.

I wish people enjoy poetry as much as hypocrisy. I wish they created art rather than wars. I wish hey discuss atoms, aliens, sex, science, music instead of rating each other by ethnicity, religion and nationality. I wish they had a twisted mind who speak with emotion and kindness, not with hate and blindness.  …

A Primrose//

It hurt me when you left me high and dry in the middle of everything right when I needed you the most. But it hurt me more when I called you six months later, sobbing, with my voice as heavy as the lump your heart once had and you kept saying hello even after I…

Broken glass.

You’re broken glass, and I’ve got Shards of you, stuck to my skin They pierce me, with every breath I take Making me bleed, until I’m covered in blood But don’t they know, that I’m a masochist? Who craves the pain, that comes from loving you? I’ve got my lungs full of you Making it…

Sky of diamonds

All the time I think of the sky high above, full of stars and souls. Every time they blink up flies a frail dove that my heart stole. A piece of me stolen, a sky of stars swollen… The dove flies high, with candor I sigh. The dove is so frail but it brings a mail….

Me. Love. 

Art is creation, is the self-expression of the misunderstood. Art is suffering, some days it transforms into spring flowers and winter laughs, but some days it remains suffering. Mirrors are a trembling reminder of war. Personal and sentimental. Loneliness. Sometimes they are your only friend. Water fills our soul, sleep reduces the pain in it….

It’s 4 a.m. and I’ve lost my sense of time

Originally posted in Spanish on our site Letras & Poesía It’s four o’clock in the morning. I have lost my sense of time, I don’t know how many hours I’ve already spent here sitting on the floor, writing in my computer, but all I know is I’ve never felt like this before. Tranquility reigns all around…

Ocean

I promised myself to never get attracted  to anyone or anything  but the ocean then i met you  and you grow  waves in the  calmest part  of my skin. By Rim Zeiny Read more texts by this author

Drive, guy, drive

The car is out there. The peace, nowhere. That house stinks. It’s like a hell. The people there, they all yell. Go away, guy, go away. There is nothing left to say. Drive, guy, drive. Look for your wished hive. By Luca Arnaldo Read more texts by this author

The silent age of our happiness.

We live by day, and rest at night, we make our brains believe that we do not care a lot of what others say, but we die a little in the thought. Even though we live for attention. We hate the things that hurt us, but in secret we cherish them. We cherish dead and violence….