NO LAND

Swallows circle above our little heads.

They draw circles that never remain.
Avoiding the lines that would turn into cages.

We stand at the center of this invisible round.
For us it’s a circle,
for these birds a dance.

And they fly
and no one see them land.
They just fly
as if they’ll never land.

And they take our gazes in their view,
overhanging our towns, our fields, our lands,
our splendid and teenie-weenie lands, faraway, odd, old.

All around our heads,
swallows circle and dance and dance around our swirling heads.
We dance around, we dance and circle above our little lands.

We see the wounds
from scarified ground
that men draw for their cockfights.

WE ARE THE MATTER OF ANYWHERE.
HOW CAN WE BE FROM SOMEWHERE?

Now we are here,
indisputably here,
coming from all parts of the horizon,
celebrating each horizon.

Now we are here,
celebrating here,
celebrating nowhere,
celebrating everywhere,
raising the flag of the no-country,
that we’ll reach, endlessly.

We reached the end of our certainty,
warmed by the light of doubt
and all around we can see – shine –
the spark of the Other,
the unknown, the unseen,
a glimpse of the gross sum of everything – shine -.

Here begins the end of our world,
smashed against a shore,
filled by tomorrow’s lack, endlessly.

Here sinks our land.
Our boundaries dim,
fade in to the otherness,
endlessly.

One foot in the sand,
the other in water,
curious
then thirsty
for a change of light,
for a new scented breeze,
for a former sight of a brand new scene
where anyone grows, rises and blooms, anywhere.

We are like sand,
together compact.

Yet each of us,
singular and unique,
each one is a world,
irreducible,
unconfined.

We are the land,
the moving frontier.
We are the now,
we are not the here.

Horizon belongs to us like sky to birds.
Everywhere we turn there’s nothing to retain,
the sky and the earth remain.

This poem is our platform,
a nowhere hymn.
This song is our platform,
an everywhere hymn.

We have no land.

One voice for all strength.
The beat of space all around
enjoins us to hug it’s curves,
to fill it’s virgin recesses.
And we dance like the fire
in it’s virgin recesses.

We are joined just for a while
in a capsule of time,
captured,
caught in a fugue,
in a wondrous overlap.

Hunting for the overlap.

Far from ourselves,
far from the web
that we weave,
our gilded cages,
we leave.

Free,
caught in a fugue,
in a wondrous overlap,
in a forest of gap.

When we see walls,
we see through them,
porous walls,
barriers of lace.

We flow like the current,
it has no land.
Winds have no land,
Scents have no land,
Birds have no land.

We spread our thoughts
out of the land,
far from our strains.
We break our bounds.

We have no land
and if we had land
it would have no name.

The name of the song that we forget,
a lost name,
the name of empty spaces.

As wide as all of us,
as round as earth,
unlimited as sky,
our borders are our thoughts.

THE SPLIT IS ALL FAKE

Gathering towards us.

My land is your shoulder,
your watchful eyes.
My land is in every smile.

Our land is in every smile.

THE SPLIT IS ALL FAKE

Our land is in every smile,
in the awakening of art,
in the autumns of any latitude
and in every spring.

THE SPLIT IS ALL FAKE

We flow like the current,
it has no land.
Winds have no land,
Scents have no land,
Birds have no land.

We spread our thoughts
out of the land,
far from our strains.
We break our bounds.

We have no land
and if we had land
it would have no name.

And we reach the time of our sloughing,
our old skin forsaken.
No longer here.
Light as feathers.
Free from the ground.
Free as flow.
Strong as current.

We are fluttering around our worn flags.
Fluttering around.
Still.
Still in the background.
Fluttering around.
Still.

Our flag is the sky,
it’s blue,
flecked of white,
sometimes made of the all greys.
Made of the all tears.
Made of the all chants.
Made from all of us
fluttering around our fading flags.

We have no flag.
We have no anthems.
But our hymn says:
“Only one land for all of us”.

So we build the peace of the no-country.
We are the guards of open gates,
the soldiers of evanescence,
the keepers of nothing,
the innersiders.

THE HEART IS OUR LAND,
THE EARTH IS OUR LAND.

It’s all blue,
flecked of white,
made of the all greys,
made of the all things for all of us.

We have one land.
For all of us.
One land
For all of us.
WE HAVE ONE LAND

A land
with all the seas and all the mountains.

A land
where all the dreams are woven for the best.

A land
where all the tears flow in the river of courage
then in the ocean of dreams,
then in the long awaited rain,
in its pouring hope.
A land
where we breathe the same air.
Could this common place
become a shared place,
become a cherished place
with all our dreams woven for the best,
interlaced.

WE HAVE ONE LAND,
UNLIMITED.
WE HAVE ONE LAND,
INDIVISIBLE.
WE HAVE ONE LAND,
UNCONSTRAINED.
WE HAVE ONE LAND,
INVISIBLE.

Then, together,
we will patiently wait
the spontaneous combustion of our last enemy, petrified,
while we fly,
while we dance
at the center of an indivisible round,
above our indivisible world.

Just one
for all
or
no land.

AN EVERYWHERE HYMN