Monday, February 1, 2016


Maria Miraglia


from portraits
Embalmed in your thoughts
surrounded by your ego
as by an iron cage
from there you witness
the marvel of the rising sun
awakened by the nightingales
and the larks' melodies
your wings you can't open wide
and fly at the rhythm
of their sound
nor can you at night
catch sight of the charm
of the nocturnal hours
of their wondrous colors
the magic of the air
yet when you see lovers
under the white light
of the crescent moon
tenderly each other embracing
soon arises in you
strong the wish
to catch those emotions
since long your heart
silently craves
and live them yourself
but boastful as you are
you never knew
how to conquer Love


Like the scent
Of the inner core
Of flowers
In endless lawns
Picked at dawn
When just bloomed
And the sunrays
Have not yet spoiled
Their purity
Untouched their freshness
Their fragrance that
Experts hands
Mercilessly will steal
And enclose in small
Pots of precious glasses.
Rare is true forgiveness as
Rare the essence
Of the most preciuos
And tuberoses.


when you are alone at night and
there is nothing but silence
to keep you company
you can hear the voice of your soul
words that come slowly from afar
tell of your joys and pains
your tears and laughters
and you perceive of you
things you didn't know
and analyze them and
become the critic of your actions
sometimes to absolve
some others to reprove thee
you better understand your emotions
and learn to seize them from their roots
wondering about your Self
almost finding hard to recognizing it
and ask what you are doing of you
meet your child in you
with his fears and uncertainties
and wish to cuddle him
but something recall you to the Present
it's the sound of the clock
that tells you the time
your consciousness rises from the depth
your inside travel reached its stop
and you realize that your soul
is where you can more clearly
mirror yourself

@ Maria Miraglia
all rights reserved gen,4 , 2016

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