Poems by Ana Fati

By Ana Fati

STRAWBERRY SEASON

Vestiges of modernity:

The happy forts of moral dilemmas.

Are provisional victories never-ending failures?

Unresponsive skies, demons hiding in the vague corners of the afternoon.

Maybe we have to stop confiding our secret life to a saviour.

Devastated features of the past:

Ineffable vapours of lucidity.

We are punctured by time,

by our playable and interchangeable parameters;

by the crumple of habits and the arcane but gritty (re)fabrication of new pillars.

My time is an island.

-a time that has no minutes

Simply seconds

and seconds are longings- traces of existence and resistance.

Tension floats like a disease

Trying to settle the resolution of a narrative.

In the rays of dusted honey,

I am waiting in the orchard of time

for a perfectly shaped strawberry

saintly pervaded by a new sense of being.

Its smell invades, its juice absorbs, its aroma prevails.

DIRECTIONS

Silent encouragements, chase me through the woods of my mind,

Let me see the other side.

Let me walk under the spells of distant destinies.

Let me endure appropriately.

Seduce my senses into new beginnings.

Nobody tells you how a leaf feels when it is descending from the tree.

Nobody informs you of the nanoseconds of despair.

Nobody admits that

despair is inflaming psychosomatically,

generating

a crack in our spiritual circulation.

Nobody reveals the secrets of shame.

The inflexibility of states.

The nameless anxieties.

The loss of identity.

That autumn chromatics can sync tragically with whatever bleeds.

Silent encouragements,

You cultivate a sense of possibility.

Ascend the leaf.

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