The Girl in the Linen Dress

The golden light of dusk,
fed her eyes, her face and hair,
and turned on fire
the most beautiful linen dress.

Not the sand under her feet,
nor the sea to which she gave warmth,
could keep me from gazing,
at such a wonderful sight.

And she turned on her dance,
the welcomed marine breeze,
to which her sacred white dress kept beat,
channeling my every sense into the deepest bliss.

Yet, my every intent to approach her,
were desperately vain, as she followed
to turn and turn, fading out, growing pale,
turning my sweet princess, into a forgone tale.

(Happy 21st Birthday to me!)

On Dreamland

This place is mysteriously bizarre,
like in a midnight rush hour
thousands pass and come by,
uncontrolled laughter, and
bellows of excitement (or pity?)

Yet everybody is doing something,
things I can’t really figure out
hazy blurs of running men,
skirmishes and dancing tribes.

But none of this unfocuses me.
As I glide towards my orange sign
and I stand beside her
and she takes me away.

The Game of Fire and Feathers

Amid the blaze of fire,
she dances alive,
bowed down upon the presence
of fiery creatures,
which, casted, burn and smoke
and cry their spirits out
majestically following the music’s flow.

A feathered mask hides her face,
and conceals more than a girl’s game,
for, yes! she dances alive,
but in her steps she carries
the whole weight of the World
finely woven in the colours
of feathers of dead ancient birds.