Do colours get an elusive soul ? A Poem by Gabriella Garofalo

Do colours get an elusive soul? They do.
But now please turn the light on:
Weekends zeroed in
When she misspelt his Name,
Lackadaisical times –
Is she ready? Not yet, not for his Name –
Oh, cut it out with your freaky babbles –
Where are the skinny pale girls
Who hung around in seedy cafes,
Who dated o so wonderfully poised
Older men –
Beware, your soul hasn’t learnt yet
To fend off the sky,
As ever she smiles, says ‘thanks’,
Lets in a thrusting dark
Along with harshness from flowers,
Yes, from meadows, yes,
And to top it all water’s just her mirror –
Had they said no to the slithering wise
You’d be living like a fixed star
In an undeserved sky –
Spot on, sweetie, but I only give
To the panhandler who longs
For smiles and nods –
I only give to infinite.

 
 
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Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six and is the author of “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre stelle polari”; “Blue branches”.

 
 
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