No whispers, no hissings for her | Gabriella Garofalo

No whispers, no hissing for her,
Only a blue overwhelming silence
From deserted skies, 
As limbs mad at some blue water
Halt the keepers of slant words,
Silence them, throw your many moons
To a wrinkling sky who looks dazed,
Yet he still rushes up to disarray,
Bribing teens and young 
With plastic tat, shoddy trinkets,
Cheap colours, who cares,
Your turn to play now, dash out,
Subtle blue voices are goading you,
Since broken branches, or deprived roots
Might heal your soul, but don’t look too closely,
As all that cobalt blue hides islands
Where your fear rejects horizons,
And too much aggro with a light
You mistook for a blackout, 
So don’t waste time with maps, or sextants, 
My soul, a quick fix is cleaning all over with light-
End of story, you’re just a Red Sea 
Where limbs hide, but never mind,
Even your scant stock of light
Could do without, when in your mind 
You set again the most grating pronouns, 
I, them, she, once they wolf down blue times,
When you wonder if the sky
Will ever give back that very soul
You pushed away full blast-
But now such scorching thoughts are strangers,
‘Cause the air got lost, so dash off, my soul,
And hone your voices just like blades.

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 these books “Lo sguardo di Orfeo”; “L’inverno di vetro”; “Di altre stelle polari”; “Casa di erba”; “Blue Branches”; “ A Blue Soul”, “After The Blue Rush”.