Five Poems – The Robot, Reflection, The Last Cicada, Synthetic Blindness, Fascinating Truth

The Robot

The intelligent robot having

green eyes

doesn’t understand

the sense of the human perfection.

He tries to catch the meaning of the lies.

He needs a goal, and

he knows that he’s existent.


From the mirror,

a man is watching how

the rain washes

the shadow of a cloud.

The raindrops look like tears.

The light is green,

but the eyes of the leaves are yellow.

He doesn’t say anything

While walking his confusion,

which is a reflection of a thought

with no color.

The Last Cicada

The sadness scattered

over the walls resonating

with what was

in the heart

of the mountain.

No sound could be heard.

A myriad of eyes belonging to cicadas

were shrouded in mist.

A somewhat long-winded

like a speech

surrounded by the sky.

Maybe it was an echo,

a sesquipedalian one.

It wasn’t breathless at all.

Nothing could have saved

nature around.

Neither of the forests,

neither of the birds,

and neither of the bears

could survive…

Nothing more could

have been done.

All the moving peaks became

small stones, as solitary as

the moon,

at the fugitive horizon.

The last cicada


Everything became motionless.

There were only the shadows

of the trees

to follow the sunbeams.

The nature game

turned detrimentally

into a disaster.

In an illuminated city,

a man bought

a lovely bouquet of red roses

wanting to bestow

what it is considered to be

a symbol of romance.

This man needed

to express his love

and to let his woman know

how he feels about her.

This man disappeared.

He was the last one.

Nothing could have saved him.

Nothing more could

have been done.

Synthetic Blindness

Blood on her scratched skin,

red tattoo in painful time,

synthetic blindness.

Fascinating Truth

This fascinating truth comes out of

your mouth to surround

my feelings like the lights that are absorbed by

the darkness of the underground –

optical fiber sensors in the smart

fields with heat, vibration, bending or squeezing.

This truth is a thing I know, for sure, a thing

I know I can live for. It makes me understand

our relationship from the inside out. A new sun is in

this secret world of our little garden situated in front of

our cave temple, and I spend time fleshing

out precisely what “embodied” signifies. Optical fibers

always pick up ground tremors. Even so,

I am the only one wanting to do something,

but I am growing up on

your love plantation,

which, sometimes, is ruthless and has turbulent waters.

The sun disappears there.

This truth is like a holm. It makes you rethink

what you know about the Creation and what love means,

when you are

still alive at the edge of your existence

between certitude and denial

and when God is out of your vision. It is about overcoming

the idea of what makes you be so fearful. Clean and uncluttered,

this truth belongs to a twilight time

and makes you, sometimes, do absurd things.

We are inside this plasma,

and plasma is inside everything. It is incandescent

in the sun, and I am curious to know if you

are able to change the destiny.

No, you are not able to do this, but you are able

to stop the truths be spoken.

All the absurd things are cool. Their spirits lose

their oxygen ions to generate

that matter in no pain. The spiritual things

are in pulsing metamorphosis to break in pieces, or

to turn back after

a long, hard, but reversing process

before becoming anachronistic.