You get me back

Suddenly I was back, sitting in the little wooden desk
Looking out the window, in between the multicoloured glass
Surrounded by the severe look of old medicine books
In my eyes, the expectation; in the air, that peculiar smell

I start rolling the little handles that lift the sheets of glass
It opens the outside, invites it in with a blow, a whisper of the wind
And I can sense it, the dust on the thick, dark-green leaves of the orange tree flies,
Just like magic sparkle does in dreams, but fades away, disappears

I look up, in between the shady spots of trees, and the sky looks grey
The wind brings far from the distance that smell, the one of hope, it’s wet, it’s sweet
Just as an orchestra prepares its gear, tiny unforgotten sounds fill the air
My eyes widen, my mind opens, it’s the moment, I make it mine.

I drop my little yellow pencil down, as the chopped pieces pierce my notebook’s pages
The numbers, geography and principles of grammar are no longer in my mind.
I need to be part of it; I escape my jail, I stand in that patch of man-made land.
And the wind brings news of change, a long-due promise, the one of life.

The signals are imminent; the wind is now strong and makes ghostly sounds
The clouds race fiercely in the sky, as I look up, eager for more, thirsty…
My mother runs from room to room, closing windows, turning mirrors around
The old routine of anticipated moments starts, like a bizarre dance

As the time click-clocks, in a slow, steady pace, I know it’s here
The moment that I wished to taste, the one that it’s as rare as six months are for a child
Then my mother shouts from a window, demanding me back inside… a drop falls,
It hits my cheek, and it feels cold, and just like that, it sets itself immortal in my mind.

Welcome back

The sweet tones of a mellow song
The unexpected words of an unheard poem
The mild smells drifting from the wood
Inside of all that you hide, and in an instant, you’re back

You trap me, you fill my insides with a warm buzz
My nose feels an itch, and my heart shrinks
And without a warning, you take me away
Back to my memories, my roots, my forgotten dreams

It takes just an instant, but you get me back
Reality shifts, and suddenly, I’m gone
The back seat of a compact car, cruising on a cold morning
The family trips, the thrill of a childhood life.

With no more than just my memories, I carry on
What I felt, I feel no more, and I can barely bring it back
What I sensed is now a cloud…
But those notes, words and smells, set me straight

Nostalgia, you! The sneakiest of the senses
The one that reminds us that as long as we have a mind
We will have our past, tattooed to our souls
And in an instant, and without warning, you take us back.

The sincerity of a dream

I stand in air, looking back to what seems like yesterday
Locked inside the gates of my blind visions, lost memories.

Taken from the pieces on the ground, that lay sparse around.
Making you stand, be born, be the basic element of life

And then I sense the raw thoughts of your mind, flirting around
Making me desire more, like the thirst of lust or lack of faith

I see myself beneath, basic, terrene, just a piece among the chaos
Bringing my heart forward, and covering it in ice, inert.

And why you ask? Because of justice, because it was simply right
And like that, I handed myself in, for the inner, complex side.

I stand on earth, looking down to what seems like today
Locked inside the deal from life, the one that is fair

Taken from the walls around my soul that stand strong.
Making you kneel, exist, and be the basic form or life

And then I sense the urgent thoughts of your mind, holding me
Making me desire, like the thirst of inspiration and lack of luck

I see myself inside, locked, immobile, just a standing piece
Bringing my present self forward, and giving it another chance.

And why you ask? Because of hope, because it is simply necessary
And like that, I will hand in myself, the dreaming scarce side.

I stand on hope, looking up to what seems like tomorrow
Locked inside the fantasies, those that don’t exist.

And then I sense the beating heart of inspiration, calling me
Making me dream, like the thirst for freedom, for myself.

I see myself above, complete, real, just like I need to be
Bringing my spirit forward, and finally letting go.

And why you ask? Because I have to, because of who I am
And like that, I take the hand of time, and the dream slowly fades.

Érase Una Vez…

We have heard the stories; those that once put us to sleep. No matter where the wind took our laughs, we all anticipated the moments in which our thoughts would be taken to fantastic lands, and in which our memories shaped the most innocent features that determined our cultural personalities.

For some, they started as a “Once Upon A Time…”, others heard an Irish toned “Fadó, fadó…”, or a harsh yet hopeful German sound of “Es war einmal…”, some others had a more romantic Italian “C’era una volta…” or a more pragmatic Greek "Mia forá ki énan kairó..."; but for me, it was a simple and warm “Érase Una Vez…”

These were the magic words to the hidden corners of my mind, in which I carefully placed my heroes, fantasies, fears and unattainable dreams.

We shared the fantastic memories of dragons, princesses, talking creatures, scary tiny heroes, and fearful villains, but in our own way, we made them ours, hoping they would come to the rescue when the right moment in our lives called for it.

Just as leaves do in late autumn, we flew away with the strong blow that just our imagination was able keep. Making up the faces, forests, castles and swords inside our heads, bringing them to life, letting them be.

Érase Una Vez the time in which we believed we could, in which there was more to a story than just the side we were told to listen; in which we cared for a cat wearing high boots, or in which we wanted to be a tiny mouse to be able to find the village where the gnomes lived.

Suddenly, I touched the old book, covered in dark hard leather with golden letters that smelled like time; slowly I felt its protuberant surface, thinking on the young minds that once, heard attentively the words that laid inside, latent, sleeping, but ready to come to life.

And lifting its heavy, front cover I saw, the first words that once upon a time, thrived my system and awoken my imagination “Érase Una Vez”; and the old smell of its pages combined with the washed illustrations on its counter-page set a smile on my face, that smile that I know was the exact same I had years before, printed in my childhood dreams.

SDIH
June 9 2008