A new place in time you are, shattering my compass card, erasing all the known coordenates and route plans forever, forcing me to learn to navigate like the ancient seamen, with an eye on a map full ofterra incognita signs and terrible ocean monters, and the other fixed on the stars above… 

...and believe me, I like it, and I will, as long as your eyes are willing to sooth me, to be my beacons, and your soul my promised land. This is coastal navigation, I am one of those ships that cruise the horizon at night, like ghostly shadows in a procession of souls, each carrying his own oil lamp, both distant and near, well awake.

Today I came to the shore, the sun was a king above, and I admired the seagulls in their rampant fishing parties, I watched the land fishers preparing their shiny baits and being kissed by the brave waters, I walked the long pier like a pilgrim reaching his final church.

I looked back at the past and felt happily confused, as if nothing I have learnt so far was relevant when I walk along these sands, and this brand-new ignorance felt invigorating like a promise.

And while I was living all this life, I was silently praying to unknown gods to help me to
reach you, to inspire me to fill your glass with the sweetest love.

Please come to this lovely beach of mine, will you?

Sándalo Naranja



I hereby declare (with dramatic gesture)
your falling in disgrace, from now on,
disposessed of all the beauties
that once crowned your guilded head.

(For, my dear lady, I'm sorry to say,
your characteristic radiance is long gone. 
It does not reach my soul anymore,
and the once luminous wake of your steps
rests on a puddle of fading memories)

By virtue of this decree,
I reclaim everything mine,
up to the last word and deed, 
every intention or wish,
every thought and every detour.

(Up to the last syllable of every verse, 
                please do return it all)

I herewith decree that henceforth
you shall be disposessed as well 
of that proverbial brightness 
I once bestowed upon you,

the white light, the blues, 
the seemingly unending vibration,
the miracle-making power, 
all that awe-inspiring beauty of yours.

(hands that commanded my slow-mo stare,
eyes/lagoons that prompted me to merry swims:
all crushed by the weight of silence, 
                            all dead)

You shall return the songs as well,
every turn of every melody, every upbeat 
every sudden key change,
all the shared beauties, the sketches,
the landmarks, the echo of your laughter,
the midnight words, the shadows

(the motions that used to draw me
to the supernatural swing of a summer dress,
the sideways look and the curve of the lips
while you were fishing 
for that always-ellusive english word)

(The list is endless, as you can see, 
for no amount of verses could cover it all,
and I want it all back, all,
specially the unmensurable items, 
the unsizeable stuff)

(Oh my, 
but all this is oh-so-truly beyond measure..!)

Thus, I condemn you to a rigorous exile; 
I decree you shall forever be banished
to that Sick Island of yours 
where silence is all there is

And now that you have been 
forever disposessed of the adorations 
that once made your cheeks blush,
expatriated from the places 
that were once our common soil 

May I rest in peace, myself,
to befriend again the sunbeams 
and fill my lungs with 
the ever-luring promise of Spring

Sándalo Naranja
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