Here is sunny Toronto (pronounced /təˈrɒntoʊ/)…

I’m clicking on these little white keys and fancying the sound they are making… while the other half of my brain is on strike and struggles hard to get away from the virtual world and take a journey to… hmmm…

I am lying down, yawning non-stop, and craving a quick blissful nap on the wet but fresh grass, which was just trimmed less than an hour ago… hypnotized by the iron lattice tower, with a bottle of Vin de Bordeaux on the other side of my body… and the poor girl is all puzzled and tries desperately to find me among hundreds of napping souls.

In the parallel world, I am sitting with my usual venti cup in a corner park, full of wobbling creatures, and where I’ve never been to but will discover soon… sitting on the other side is a fully pregnant lady in orange stripes, who’s deciding whether to name her newborn Sophie… or just Sun.

… and I’d like to know how to return back to my own box.

S

It’s almost dawn;
I hear the howling of
the tearful wolves
and all those enraged
souls.

How can we bear the pain
and the hatred
floating out of the
bodies of many
around us?

How can we
mourn the mother,
who will mourn all her life
and melts as the
candles on the birth cake
of her own son,
who won’t see the
Autumn of
thirteen eighty nine.

The moon is crying,
and the countless stars.
The voiceless birds still weep
for their loss all long night.

The classroom full of innocent eyes
staring at the emptiness of the board
on the black wall;
waiting for his body to shine
so they can all salute him
and rise up.

What to confess when
they are murdering his
tortured thoughts?
Where to flee when
the war is about to start?
The same bloody war
that goes on for
oh so long.

I heard his last breaths
with the noose
around his neck, with all his glory
resting on the prison soil.
I feel the tears of
all the crying wolves.

I wait and crave
the day
of upheaval;
the day of the monsters
prosecuted
in front of
the mourning moms
and us all.

S

The month of May with all its natural beauty… the month of birthdays of loved ones close and far… the last few days were spent around many cakes in different shapes… or over the phone to wish them all that they wish for.

The lady, who’s beyond love and has been my idol for all my life… the one who, beside the genes, made me who I am today… a great friend, who defines coolness and whose blue *Lego* cake made us all nostalgic in the tapas bar… another lovely friend, whom I met a few years back at another birthday bash of hers, when she blew a candle on a half-watermelon cake and made me admire her uniqueness… and the little birthday boy for whom I was present when he opened his pure eyes to this not-so-pure world in room number seven.

They might come with many insights, but they are all Taurus with a sensible outlook on life… they might come from different times, but they all closed their eyes, made a wish, and blew a candle for many more happy returns!

S

Let’s count these countless matches:

1, 2, 3,
Four,
Five,
.
.
.

Use these matches to
light your own candles,
ignite your Monday night confusion,
or burn whatever
the fuck crosses your
empty mind.

S

I passed the park
and saw a guy,
left alone
on the edge of a dead tree
with a to-go cup
and the orange end of his pot,
hiding under le parapluie.
oh, it’s
pouring down from above;
the cruelest clouds
tangoing in
the grayest sky.

A few days were left behind…

I passed the same old park,
the soaked up guy
wasn’t there to nod to me, hi
I saw this time
a guy who
was killing time;
left alone under the
yellow sun.
his abused child was only five;
he looked calm
with a fragile heart.

I passed the park
nodded to him, bye
left the roughness of the present
all behind…

… and suddenly I felt dodgy inside
and left alone,
all alone
lost in thoughts.

S

… And today I met her again… not a face-to-face kind of interaction, but from a distance just like the previous times… she was tucked in the same beige raincoat, holding a bag in one hand and her white stick in the other one… she, in all her glory, left me in vague wonders and entire appreciation.

It’s surprising how the universe sends us signs when we feel blue in our guts… the saddening yet inspiring signs of people who were once merrier than today… or perhaps not as much as their future… how sickening it is to grieve about the silliest things while this lady and many more like her lost their ability or were never able to observe the beauty of the spring colours… the breeze of the blue sky with its shapeless clouds… the people rushing in and out with often frowning faces… not that they miss seeing the lady, who is all dressed up to perfection yet accompanied with an attitude as numb as a faceless mannequin on a random display… nor does the corrupted teenage girl in an all-ripped John and Yoko tee shouting out loud and with no self-respect whatsoever.

She might not see what we all see, but what she sense is more precious indeed… she feels the beauty of her surroundings, I can tell… she feels the greenness of the only leaf on that maple tree, which once was a nest for many wings… she feels the aroma coming out of the café at her train stop, feels the kindness of the guy who sells her everyday cup, while defining the beauty of life in her own heart.

She continues her walk, heading blindly to the brightest highway… the highway of hope and desire.

S