My Poetical Mother Poem by Lucia Daramus

to Ali Coles

by Lucia Daramus

She opens the door every time
I sit on the chair and it is quite, quite, quite
she asks me how I feel
I feel, smell her view, her eyes on my face
I do not look in her eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes...
but I know she is near me
she listens to me, she understands me, she explains me.
from time to time, she asks me about my colour play
I never paint....I play with oil colours
she enters in each flower who was painted
she opens its meaning
from time to time I send her my poems
she penetrates deeply in them. I describe them for her
when I have a seat near her my bones are delicate
the sap of my bones is of silvery spirit and I can fly
I see the people who follow me, they agitate me
I hear the voices who talk to me, who dialogue with me
but she is calm and chuffed like a star
a star which shines near my soul
she explains me what is real and what is not
then, the colours of the sky have senses. the red is warm
the yellow is a breath of angels...and all these...
and all these I feel in another way just near her
because her voice spells me, tames me.
I am like a wild horse on the stubble
which smells like a sap of green spring
I am like a cricket with violet nose which pokes
the Earth and orange sky in the time of the night...
she puts my halter of poetry on the grown wings from the shoulder
she is my mother from my dream whom I chosen
I said once - I made a transfusion with blood of my other mother...
from England, to have her poetical blood
she is my psychotherapist - Ali.