I'm looking for a synthesis
I had it on hand at the beginning
and I lost it on the way
among the brambles and the fruits
between the branches and the many regrets,
among the roses, the thorns and the mud
yet the target, the arrival I already see it
on the line of the horizon,
but I lost sight of the starting point
I know it was a definite place among the clods of the fields
where to be, to persist and resist
with the feet firmly attached to the ground
as deep roots
and in the middle the sap of existence would flow
and there it was ready and nicely served the metaphor of the tree and life
the fact is that the right sense now I cannot find anymore
nor through the branches, nor even among the leaves and fruits
the synthesis still eludes me
perhaps it is not
maybe we can just flow as sap inside the tree
and at some point get out to the air
knowing already that as soon as we will be outside
we will coagulate and dry out at the sun light and the wind
and that will be our arrival,
that will be the end of our journey,
our fate,
to be scattered in the middle of the road
consume ourselves in the intent
therefore one could say that the synthesis
is right there in the middle,
in the way itself ...
yet the thought and metaphor does not convince
and the search continues
Marco Bo
I had it on hand at the beginning
and I lost it on the way
among the brambles and the fruits
between the branches and the many regrets,
among the roses, the thorns and the mud
yet the target, the arrival I already see it
on the line of the horizon,
but I lost sight of the starting point
I know it was a definite place among the clods of the fields
where to be, to persist and resist
with the feet firmly attached to the ground
as deep roots
and in the middle the sap of existence would flow
and there it was ready and nicely served the metaphor of the tree and life
the fact is that the right sense now I cannot find anymore
nor through the branches, nor even among the leaves and fruits
the synthesis still eludes me
perhaps it is not
maybe we can just flow as sap inside the tree
and at some point get out to the air
knowing already that as soon as we will be outside
we will coagulate and dry out at the sun light and the wind
and that will be our arrival,
that will be the end of our journey,
our fate,
to be scattered in the middle of the road
consume ourselves in the intent
therefore one could say that the synthesis
is right there in the middle,
in the way itself ...
yet the thought and metaphor does not convince
and the search continues
Marco Bo
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