Things occur at nighttime, mostly,
shutters down, no lamplight, quiet.
Places never seen before and
yet peculiar, people known so
well like strangers, past and future
upside down, mixed up, entangled.
Crowds benumbed, as if remotely
checked, surround, obstruct and choke me,
sudden come to life as soon as
I attempt to run away or
reach for some familiar semblance
glimpsed adrift the human tidal
wave, prevent my slightest movement.
Frames succeed insanely, settings
change abruptly, contexts alter
quick around me, all rotates while
I’m the one that hardly leaves the
scene, however, it’s no nightmare.
Only when the morning noises
pat my ears and eyelids open
I revert to that embodied
self who thinks he is the real
one, as records start rewinding.
No, I haven’t lost my marbles,
nothing weird affects my noggin,
said rewind is all that matters.
Shock, rerun upon rerun, the
toll I have to pay to keep in
line with what I aim at being.
Ghost, no shell, between-embedded.
Matter structures itself as per nature laws.
One every a trillion such structures
results in a clot of self-awareness,
a particle of oneness in embryo.
It then takes eons for it to become intelligence,
and ages for intelligence units to connect,
until absolute wholeness is achieved.
When wholeness exits itself to self-contemplate,
harmonious oneness is perfected.
After which there is no way to reverse the process.
All is fulfilled.
The nonagenarian’s last thought on his death bed
goes to a child’s first cry on the other side of the world.
The safest elephant in the Kruger National Park
feels the pain of a bowhead whale harpooned in the Arctic.
The millenary larch at high altitude in a Rhaetian vale
weeps turpentine for a kapok felled in Mato Grosso.
The icy outer planet of a peripheral system
detects every plasma ion shot by a bulge supernova.
Each dimensionless point through each split second
of each brane of the infinite multiverse
equals the whole.
A tiny star shines on beyond the abyss of time,
alone in my room with eyes closed I see its twinkle.
Echoes of subdued voices chase each other,
flowing from multiple eras through the same instant.
Those whose journey is over as those on the way
and those who haven’t yet set off or never will,
wherever they leave and wherever they arrive,
they don’t know it but share the same route.
Circles expand indefinitely around one center,
I keep silent in the dark afloat on the dream,
keen and waiting.
The greedy swash laps the yielding beach face,
time and again, for there is never enough.
What it seems unable to comprehend
is that the beach face can be even greedier,
stroked by the passionate foam, wave after wave.
And so the lapping goes on and on, untiringly,
slicking grooves and bumps, over and over,
to their full, final, reciprocal satisfaction.
Until the stars in the sky suddenly plummet,
sparking onto sea and shore in turmoil, yet athrill,
making them both come to appeasement,
to then hush through the night, sated and drained.
— Alessio Zanelli – Cremona, Italy
Copyright ©2022, by Alessio Zanelli. All Rights Reserved.
Alessio Zanelli is an Italian poet who writes in English. His work has appeared in some 200 literary journals from 17 countries. His fifth original collection, titled The Secret Of Archery, was published in 2019 by Greenwich Exchange (London). For more information please visit https://www.alessiozanelli.it/