Bringing life throughout the valley,
Long-forgotten spring returns.
Ocean white and pink—the flowers
Seek the sunlight; thus, they bloom.
Spreading warmth and joy around them,
Oasis is the vibrant landscape,
Mirroring dreams of hope and magic.
– Patricia
The valley was peaceful as sunlight descended,
As the liquid fire retreated behind mountains.
The forests showed dances of suffocating nightfall,
As the day disappeared, as shadows were wedded.
The shepherds returned home, the animals followed,
The sheep with their sweet lambs, the goats with their goatlings,
They entered the sheepfold as darkness came closer,
At home and in safety. Wolves started to howl.
Up there, in the mountains, they came out, they gathered,
Their cold, yellow eyes—so glassy, so famished—
Like death shone in darkness, evil and awaiting
Naive little beings to venture in the mountains.
Back home in the valley, where warmth and hay waited,
The fold was their shelter and all that they wanted.
Or was it? Unequalled? For one of them wanted
The grass in the mountains; the hay’s taste it hated.
She wanted the green grass, so fresh, full of colour;
The dry, tasteless hay which lay there—unappealing.
She longed for the freedom she had in the mountains,
Up there with the blue sky, the sun and the crickets.
Young, reckless, determined, the goat then decided
To leave all the others, the warmth and the shelter.
She wanted to run wild, away from the others,
And under the night stars, with the tempting path—lighted.
In vain tried the others to warn her: “The howling!
Can you not hear all the wolves that are out there?
Stay here, oh, young child! And wait for the sunrise!
The shepherds will come when it’s time, so be patient!”
“The taste of the green grass is, oh, so, so tempting!”
Responded the young goat, ignoring their wise words.
“I’ve made up my mind and I’m leaving this instant,
The wind and the freedom are calling me quickly.”
She jumped out her stable and ran towards the stall door,
She jumped yet again and then kicked down a batten.
The shepherds came quickly, hearing the loud noise,
But she was long gone, no matter how much they would call her.
She never looked back as she ran towards the forest,
The thrill of it all hiding the approaching cold, death glims.
She bleated, enjoying those moments of freedom
And suddenly came to a halt—she was breathless.
A pair of cold eyes was there lurking, just waiting
For her to get closer, to meet with the sharp teeth.
She suddenly knew she would never reach the grazing,
And now it was too late to run to the sheepfold.
She’d die in the forest—she knew what was coming.
The green grass she dreamt of would never be tasted.
But stubborn she was, so she swore she’d at least try
To fight him all night, till she’d see her last sunrise.
She lowered her head as the wolf then approached her,
Defending herself with her horns as he howled.
She was brave and determined, resisting his sharp claws,
His teeth and his cold stare—so dangerous, cruel.
She fought and she fought and at times she would quickly
Eat blades of the grass which they trampled on, wanting
Only one more ounce of strength—to keep fighting,
To last till the sunlight would trump over darkness.
Each time he got closer, his teeth leaving deep wounds,
Her cries would grow weaker, her spirit collapsing.
But she then fought harder—“It isn’t yet morning,”
She’d say to herself and then gather her lost strength.
Till finally sunlight appeared from the mountains.
“At last!” whispered she as she fell to the cold ground,
As the wolf towered over her defeated small body,
Howling in victory; his eyes—no more daunting.
And as the light from her eyes started dimming forever,
She looked at the sky, as her last hope appeared:
The sun, sending spears, rose high above darkness,
Bathing her being in triumphant, strong sunbeams…
– Patricia
Painting with vibrant spirit and delight,
Oasis is the ever-living art.
Surreal moments, music, writing, dreams:
The legacy of those who’ve been redeemed.
Even if time won’t spare their mortal souls,
Regardless of what they’ve achieved on Earth,
Infinity awaits creators of this world:
Through masterpieces they will all live on,
Yesterday: here, tomorrow: never gone.
– Patricia
Eager to leave a trace behind on Earth,
Pharaohs and emperors, conquests, battles and wars.
Humans all try to leave their mark within this world:
Enticing paintings, stories to be told.
Music which purifies the burdened souls,
Ending the pain of being only mould.
Ruins of ancient works which fade away,
All memories of once glorious days,
Long gone and never to be seen again,
In passing winds becoming only clay.
They come and go—only a passing breath,
Yesterday: here, tomorrow: certain death.
– Patricia
He travelled the Earth in his search for delight,
Observing the people as they tried to decide
What path would be better to lead them in life,
What fate to create for themselves under the sunlight. ǀ Fine
He carried his satchel, for that’s all he had,
As he gathered stories, travelling far.
He heard all their burdens and saw all the tears,
And took them with him as he travelled the seas.
He saw their warm smiles in moments of joy;
Their strong, joyous laughter which lit up the room.
He carried their stories to others like them,
To others so different who could understand.
Their dances, their struggles, their days in the rain,
Their castles, their cattle, their crops for the day.
At night by the fire, when songs would be sung,
The burdens—forgotten when under the stars.
Their moments together, their moments apart,
Their fights and their quarrels, their fears, their love.
These raw, unique glimpses inside their short lives
He captured and carried with him—in his heart.
He told them to others—it brought him pure joy,
For he felt alive through them, their spirit he loved.
He captured their magic and spread it around,
To bring joy to others—like the one he had found.
New people, new stories, new times which would come:
He’d meet with the magic they brought—one by one.
He travelled and listened, he travelled and told
The stories of those who were put on this Earth.
Da Capo al Fine
– Patricia
He watched the golden sunset, the light in all its might.
Oh, he wanted to touch it, for it brought him delight.
It gave him hope; he smiled, rejoicing in its warmth,
And he could find the power to face the world alone.
He breathed in the silence and melodies were born
Inside his strengthened spirit, each of them taking turns
At bringing out the colours which rested deep within,
Allowing him to smile—so peaceful, so serene!
He watched as amber spears descended towards the sea,
The seagulls—melancholic, the waves—unapologetically free.
Only the golden traces which now painted the sky
Were proof of what had happened—of worlds which unify.
He closed his eyes and waited—the sound of crashing waves—
The touch of reigning moonlight caressed his peaceful face.
He smiled as he felt it—the sunlight was enough;
Walking away from freedom, he ventured in the night.
– Patricia
We chased the autumn sun we knew,
Wishing that we could start anew.
But nightfall came, gone was the light;
Hard as we’d tried, we’d lost the fight.
We wanted warmth, unending love,
Yet there we were; the pure dove
Had turned into a raven—dark,
With claws we could not disregard.
It was the sunset of our bliss,
Not just a passing, short eclipse.
Our youth—no more, our strength—long gone,
Only the wind would hear our cries.
We’d had it all—or so it seemed;
The strength, the beauty, youth—all myths.
Our souls were all that we still had,
But soon enough: absorbed by dark.
We chased our final ray of hope,
As it was all we’d ever sought.
We thought we’d grasp just one more day,
Yet there we were: no more than clay.
We stopped in place and looked around,
Thus, understanding we were bound
To reach this day: our end had come.
In pilgrim winds, we came undone…
– Patricia
It hurts to be rejected when you want to fit in.
You long for their approval—you’ve never had it. Scream.
You’ve always been the outcast: exceptional. No, lost.
You chase after acceptance, yet not know who you are.
You search to please all others, yet never liked yourself.
You touch the greatest happiness when they give you a “yes.”
Approval and acceptance—that’s all you ever seek.
You’ve never had it in you to stand alone. So weak…
You trip over the smallest and tiniest of noes,
You’re back on cloud nine—quickly—when corners upward go.
You know it’s wrong. You want it. You sail with every wind.
Why won’t you simply stop it?! No backbone—so it seems…
And so, you cut your edges, you stretch your empty soul.
You cut your heart in pieces, adore the windy hole.
Yes, now they will accept you—you’ve never been more wrong.
Deformed, broken: you love it. The Pleaser, lo and behold…
– Note to self
I’ve had the dream a thousand times,
It goes like this: I’m near the sea,
I’m on the sand, open my eyes
And hear the waves just calling me. ǀ Fine
A transformation then occurs:
Metamorphosis of the soul.
The sea defines and also blurs
The lines of who I am and was.
My heart beats faster, breaks the cage,
Growing and thus setting me free.
It’s here, it’s now, no more delays,
No tightened strings controlling me.
So, I forget the life I had,
There’s no one else to hold me back.
Just what I love awaits ahead,
Beauty and nature, day and night.
I start my dance on waves of blue,
Their lacey white giving me hope.
I’m free at last, I’ve found my truth
Among the sea foam and the salt.
I’m one with water, with the sky,
I venture in their kingdom’s heart,
As seagulls give out welcoming cries;
I feel at home in this work of art.
I fly, I soar, I dance, I waltz,
So happy, free! Ecstatic, free!
I’m there until the crack of dawn,
Until nightfall—felicity.
I wish the dream went on and on,
But I wake up as moonlight bathes
My soul—and I return to my own world,
The sea—so far, the night—so late.
And I resume my passing life,
But I go back when moonlight calls,
When crashing waves await my touch,
When secret worlds once more unfold.
Da Capo al Fine
– Patricia
In the middle of the sea, I feel peace and freedom.
I am where I’m meant to be, in the water’s kingdom.
Passing waves encircle me and I touch their beauty.
Sea foam, seagulls, salt and me—all I want, forever.
In the middle of the field, I feel joy and wonder,
As I touch the golden corn, as I hear the thunder.
I rejoice in summer rains and I hear the crickets.
Sunflowers and sunlight now whisper sacred secrets.
In the middle of the trees, deep within the forest,
Listening to dancing winds, I am truly restless.
Feet in cold, refreshing springs; bathing in the quiet,
I lie back on soft green moss—berries: black and scarlet.
In the middle of the snow, veils of white surround me,
Snowflakes touch my rosy cheeks, passion thus igniting.
I am where I’m meant to be: wilderness and nature.
I am who I’m meant to be. Artist and creation.
– Patricia
Da Capo al Poetry 