I throw stones at the night window
to unchain its wings from fear and anguish.
Beyond the tumult of reality
in which our trains just crossed
a deep and forbidden love
in the stations of consciousness.
From beyond the fog
only the knocks of resignation are heard
signing its petition at every cry of longing.
Misaligned planets
still frantically searching for its meanings
among the orbits of misfortune.
I sigh in pain and rocks
detached from the mountains of silence
hit my shell recklessly.
I throw stones at sad thoughts
that embraces me colourless…
and I run… beyond the edges of the dream
in which I crammed my secrets,
and the longing and the crying that hurts
in memory of blue mornings,
in which the light magically painted our smiles.
Fortunes lose their steps through a complicated labyrinth,
shadowed by the embraces of the past,
at whose door a future grin viciously at me
in the mirror of nostalgia.
I throw stones at that mirror
and run… in a blue hope
in which I wrap myself to the core.
To be my yearning while
washing my streets of peculiar clocks
and refreshing the face of innocence.
That’s where the morning vapours will find me
when reality trains
make a love cross again.
© Simona Prilogan, January 2025, London
Image Pixabay
