Three years ago
i was asked
to seek Ithaca,
but i didn't look
to go back home,
no return to
places of slaughter
and to the dark womb
of palaces which i had long
missed to flee.
then, free from promises
why should i have cared
where the winds take me.
more light, enough,
dreaming under trees
with the scent of grass,
again a child herding goats,
still, with the song of flutes
and in the arms of love,
not running towards my end.
it is sweet, love, to give,
but so hard to keep
and filled with bitter
nights and sour days
i accept my fate
in the garden, will not seek
Ithaca, what has been
is not the same now.
i stay, here, inside,
eat cherries and bread.
i am so terribly busy
balancing the waves.
i feel better
to be truly lost
than to set sail
for an illusion.
light..is everywhere
where darkness has a home,
and sleep and death
come in their own good time.
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