My granny’s feast

Come. Get in. Sit. Look. Smell. Eat. Mmmmmh… The occasion is fit. Granny serves a feast. Those days are gone. She’s no longer there. Shhhhhhh… Be strong and go on. The granny’d say: dare!   By Luca Arnaldo Read more texts by this author Advertisements

For those of you with nothing to say…

Putting feelings into words is harder than it seems, because so very often they don’t make sense. Sort of like when I start talking to my friends and I switch languages in the middle of a sentence and it ends out coming out as gibberish. Recently my English teacher showed us a video about a…

A lovely afternoon that turned into hell at 5:30pm

He was sitting on a bench in the street, in his hand there was a book, heavy with thousands of words and heavy like the traffic of thoughts he had in his mind. The morbid traffic was there to stay. He had no hurry. He was just looking. He saw hundreds of cars, and inside…

Ephemeral

Originally posted in Spanish on our site Letras & Poesía Like a fleeting blow that knocks your temples, the moment disappears just far away, unreachable, unreal, preterite tense. Unyielding reason that lives so quickly, so breathless as a frigid kiss that floods your soul for a second. That shade of voice is gone, that caress bestowed…

I wish.

I wish people enjoy poetry as much as hypocrisy. I wish they created art rather than wars. I wish hey discuss atoms, aliens, sex, science, music instead of rating each other by ethnicity, religion and nationality. I wish they had a twisted mind who speak with emotion and kindness, not with hate and blindness.  …

A Primrose//

It hurt me when you left me high and dry in the middle of everything right when I needed you the most. But it hurt me more when I called you six months later, sobbing, with my voice as heavy as the lump your heart once had and you kept saying hello even after I…

Broken glass.

You’re broken glass, and I’ve got Shards of you, stuck to my skin They pierce me, with every breath I take Making me bleed, until I’m covered in blood But don’t they know, that I’m a masochist? Who craves the pain, that comes from loving you? I’ve got my lungs full of you Making it…