Ngrato Noyau - Ungrateful Heart Poem by Giordano Pinero

La Voir '

{Seeing Her}

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The French Alps is a very beautiful place this time of year.

A sylph like silhouette inhabits the air against an orange orb.

long slender legs, peddling as fast as she possibly can

her flaxen hair, like strawed golden sunlight

her eyes a pulchritudinous indigo, the shape of a sleepy purring cat.

A fleshy breeze casts down, from the Rhone-Alps, tussling her hair

like naughty young lads, commandeered by their newly awakened hormones.

She would suddenly veer left, along the shore of Lake Geneva

as she would always do every Sunday afternoon.

On her way to the tiny medieval village of Yvoire

crisscrossing ' Le Jardin de Cinq Sens' [ The Garden of Five Senses ] along her way.

Reaching the apple orchid, tucked away to the southeast corner

against the backdrop of 'Castle Chateau d'Yvoire', she would stop for a while..

Her limbs, deliciously sleek, holding her balanced upon her enameled white bicycle

I could swear to it.

Each wild apple from every tree, rushed to her, teasing her with a hunger of their own. Clamoring to become the chosen one.

Yes......

I happen to know it for a fact

For even the Black and Royal Kites and Ospreys would forgo their fishing, to partake in pleasure basking in her presence. Vast meadows of Stemless Gentians and white Edelweiss, gyrating at the hips provoking her innocence to become lost.

Though that day would never come to fruition, knowing what I know this day.

And so there she would sit, sipping her green tea with Jasmine petals, at her favorite sidewalk cafe

Twirling her golden saffron locks with her index finger, ever so childlike, much as she will do for the next fifty-two years.

Twirling, contemplatively, while strumming the rim of her tea cup, with dainty, satin fingers.

Marking time to a yearning that burnt inside of her, the regrettable chaos, that has impoverished her, more than any chafe from a captor's sheathed sword.

It was there I longed for her.

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' Le Désir '

{ The Yearning }

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Languish fosters in her, to whether she will ever resonate against my song.

Will I one day enfold unto her cherry blossom caress, like stellar in starlight?

Find me true love, she cries, from inside her aching heart.!

Show me the way, I beg beseechingly!

Will I ever get to touch your face?

Will you one day kiss my lips?

Will we ever sit at ocean's edge,

our bare feet tempting the ebb and flow of life itself?

Just once, will I ever whisper good morning in your ear?

Will your strong hands one night find my shoulder under a silvery moon?

A single teardrop spills out from her, streaking down her cheek

Beginning its beautiful journey

Climbing the tallest mountains and crossing the deepest oceans.

To a place she will never come to know...

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' Années Passées '

{ Years Gone By }

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Many years have come and gone since I first caught glimpse of this Goddess

Her long slender legs, peddling as fast as she possibly can
her flaxen hair, like strawed golden sunlight.

Stopping to pick wild apples, somewhere far off, in a small medieval French Alps village.

The once tender forgiven dream I held so sacred against my chest for five decades, has risen to attenuated urgency now. For it was getting late.

I must know for certain, this whimsical gnome ensconced in me.

All too real, for all too long

Is it treasure or a fools gold?

I must come to know.
I must come to know.

I traveled to Y'vore the following April.................

Since my soul was shred to pieces, by the finite balance between phantasm and miracle!

And it was there I waited to where the road bottle-necked along the shore of Lake Geneva.

Hope clung to my shallow breath since everything about the Rhone Alps was exactly as I had envisioned it, many times, for many years.

Though, there was no sight of a nymph-like young beauty, sunlight in her hair, peddling as fast as she possible can, upon her enameled white bicycle, like she would do each Sunday afternoon.

My hasteful inquisition diverted me to ' Le Jardin de Cinq Sens'. To the apple orchard.

Black and Royal Kites and Osprey's were busy fishing. The Stemless Gentians and white Edelweiss, replaced by next generation wildflowers.

Both sadness and sorrow swelled up in me. I ventured aimlessly into town to where I would look to find a small bed and breakfast.

Perhaps to ponder the recklessness of my years of fanciful dreams.

When on my way through the gardens and past the castle of ' Chateau d'Yvoire, I came upon a small cafe, called 'La Perch'.


It was there I saw her!



Sitting as she always had, at a street side cafe table sipping her green tea with jasmine petals

Her once sun kissed golden locks, gone white with time and she kept it braided with two long tails.


Her fine figure, though still slender, had lost much of its svelte and had tired in places.

Yet her eyes still enchanted those who got close enough to her.

And so I did

My heart leaped with joy after all these years of seeing her in my minds eye,

As I approached to where she sat, she strummed at the rim of her tea cup with fingers weathered through time. Twirling at her locks with her index finger.

I slowed my pace, as if I were seeing my entire life flash in front of me.

She looked straight at me now, and let out a sudden gasp, loud enough for patrons occupying the tables next to her, to sit back erect, to wonder.

Our eyes danced upon one another like ' St, Suplice, ' an old flamenco tune saved for lover's, caught up in the celestial warmth to the meaning of love...

We beheld each others gaze with all its infinite possibilities laid to rest.

As if a lifetime of waiting, had become the saving of ourselves for this moment

' Good afternoon Madeleine', I uttered, startled by my new found realization that poured out her name involuntarily.

' Tell me how you are Charles? ' she sent back to me, her sweet melodic voice, like angel breath upon wings of chaste doves.

- A silence that would fill the the space between dreams, had followed.-

'Great weather you have here this time of year, in the Alps, isn't it Madeleine? '

'Yes Charles, it certainly is ' she answered back calmly, as if we had met like this for a lifetime.

' You sure are beautiful Madeleine and I love the way you twirl your hair and strum the rim of your tea cup ' I poured forth unrestrained, wanting so much to let her know how sorry I was for all the years gone by.

Forsaken by the north winds that laid waste the relevance to keen intuition.

Madeleine surveyed me long and hard. Almost as if she needed to savor the moment.

A single teardrop rolled down her cheek as she took my hand.

' Charles, most men spend a lifetime grasping at beauty, as though possessing it would become their ultimate bliss. '

'Though what happens to the beautiful rose once it has been plucked in order to possess it? '

Its novelty wears and all its beauty wilts with a frightening decadence.

To where all the kings horses and all the kings men can no longer.......

And they will turn to satiate their void yet again.

' What greater gift than the realization, that no one can ever improve upon perfection'

' I shall always love you Charles.' she said while lowering her eyes.


' And I will forever see your sylph like silhouette inhabiting the air against an orange orb.' He mellowed, as he turned to walk away.


- Inspired by a song -


St. Suplice / By The Andrea Cardillo Project