Born in Italy, living in Dublin (Ireland) for 10 years, I enjoy writing poems about the greatly unknown universe of the mind.
I am a mature student of Mathematics and Physics at the OU, mother of one boy, I love travelling to let myself be surprised by the beauty of nature and by the different cultures humanity has produced.
as my thoughts are quickly
galloping harnessed by the reins of my
like an idea
not yet embraced
by my awareness.
more and more in depth,
from the dimensions of
comprehending, of remembering
to my dreamless sleep.
And in the middle,
the heavy loads of all my
never breathed breaths
float weighting my conscious
and yet distorted mind.
– the longest and the shortest ones – during which
the story of my life is written on
these no more blank pages of my mind;
My breath, a precious and flexible
trail of all the jobs of my unknown mind.
And what I use to call
could be just
brief or longer,
weak or stronger,
of the dance of my breath with
what I use to call
look at me,
so blindEyes caged
in iron grates
– expressionless –
They stare at my eyesCarved
into the concrete
they have the
breath of the wind
and the tears of the skyTheir eyes
strive for lightImpotent
I listen to
their deaf cries
the wet glass
of my window
I wipe my eyes
– they are dry
of my brain
the microscopic fuse
of my thought
in slow motion.
The time dilates
to the extreme,
the past rises,
a memory revives.
again is born,
intact.The brain becomes mind...
– closed by the heaviness of the sleep –
are full of life; the time-line of my memories
is broken, fragmented in pieces; it is
recomposing with no care about what present,
future, past or possible, impossible mean.My will betrays me and – at the same time –
it breaks me free. An emotion is bouncing
all over my senses; the echoes of my mind
attract me until I find myself at the centre
of my dream, moving, talking, living as a
living puppet moved by another piece of me.There is that puppet, surrounded by my memories
and thoughts; a passive viewer who takes in
the front part of the scene of my dream at a glance;
some directors who dictate the incomprehensible
rules: I am them all, and it seems to me that
I can anytime choose who of them to be.I am that living puppet now in my dream, and in the
appearance of it, I discover a kind of freedom I never
thought I could have. As soon as I start to believe
that everything is real in my dream – even me –
a silent voice – like a silent thought in a place made
of thoughts – whispers to me “it is just a dream”.And like fingers touching a soap bubble,
my awareness touches my dream and makes it
disappear. Narrow spaces now are in front of my
wide-open eyes; my memory – divested of my dreams –
is full of life. The beautiful colours and shapes of the
world shape my senses and overturned my mind:
What previously was the living puppet of my dream,
now it is my consciousness and will; and what
previously was the background of that puppet of me,
– included the passive viewer of my dreams –
now – as my body – a new puppet it is, gracefully
moved by different and opposite strings.
What is the mind made of?
Of trails of codes
curled up as spirals of love
quiet forests of trees of thoughts
shaken by warm breezes and big storm of
air, tears and blood.
What is the mind made of?
Of space-times permanently or reversibly deformed
– An immeasurable Alter-Universe inside a cranial box –
Mind, son of the Universe, which is in turn your son
And here I am, like an hologram sprung from
the temporary embrace of all the natural laws.