Southern Memos, II

Southern Memos, II

Reading tankas

under a scorching

heat;

Anything longer could thaw

my grip.

Understanding how people

emerge from the sea

as carob trees, artichokes, sweet potatoes

lurk beneath earth's surface;

all because they have to.

The deepest the drought

the fitter the soil when rain

shall pour;

if and only if both

believe.

In these conditions, happiness remains

a selective property; for only those

blessed

are able to shine

and bloom.

Two old ladies strolling

among almond trees;

their plucking though over

remains a presence worth

living – their silence

a warm mystery.

© 2016, José Coelho

Southern Plains

There's an immense feeling of completeness,

overwhelming

while crossing the vastness of

their warm blessing

solitude.

Sunflowers bend over

males cicadas,

shrilling loudly to the skies

while announcing

afar from urban remnants

half peeled cork

hushes and reigns

bulls and eagles feed

mother earth

with cayenne

red excrements

the landscape gags,

it kills

you,

slowly.

Southern plains are an illusion

they imprison your inner most life

in their womb,

viciously,

forever.

Nothing changes around

besides you.

Although there's nothing to it,

I don't understand southern plains.