It came to my mind yesterday ,as I was driving, so I went to check it in the evening: the twentieth anniversary of my first poetry has just passed by.
Nothing important, just a personal commemoration.
“This is living” was the masterful advertising of the latest video-games console.
Was that the real life? Was that the perception of living for millions of people, and not only kids or teenagers, happy to rush home, and close themselves in, just to play and join a virtual life?
Was it living to give up the real life, the real world, and spend instead time in front of a screen to fight, kill, drive, fuck?
He got out of one of the bathrooms at the office. Deadened silence and the cold white of the neon-light.
He approached one of the five sinks lined up on the front wall to rinse his hands and face. Perhaps it would help him to finally wake up from his numb.
He looks at himself at the mirror, grinning.
The legs are struggling while I’m going uphill, but they know the way.
The muscles harden more and more but they will resist.
Short breath, crazy heartbeat, the altitude starts to make me feel sick.
There could be a thousand excuses, a thousand reasons to stop and go back, down to the valley, but I chose my destination and nothing can stop me now
A little bit more, I hold on.
The last effort and behind that pass I’ll be there.
The sky slides fast tonight.
A layer of clouds like sheep following the instinct of the flock.
The sky doesn’t stop even tonight, it doesn’t care about anything, it goes on its way. Fast, selfless, free, it runs toward the infinity.
Yet it gives something, everlasting colours and moments, light games, astonishing sunrises and sunsets.
To who is brave enough to stop and look…