The flexible trail of my breathing

up to
the limit
for supporting

as my thoughts are quickly
galloping harnessed by the reins of my

like an idea
not yet embraced
by my awareness.

more and more in depth,
from the dimensions of
comprehending, of remembering
to my dreamless sleep.
And in the middle,
the heavy loads of all my
never breathed breaths
float weighting my conscious
and yet distorted mind.

– the longest and the shortest ones – during which
the story of my life is written on
these no more blank pages of my mind;

My breath, a precious and flexible
trail of all the jobs of my unknown mind.

And what I use to call
“Emotions, Reasoning,
Memory, Dreams
Consciousness, …”
could be just
brief or longer,
weak or stronger,
of the dance of my breath with
what I use to call

Photo by



Acts of mercy
at the right time
though merciless
my awareness appears
when it brings me
the most valuable gift:
a “know yourself”
in small sips.
when I kiss
a piece of a mind in half-light
or one of my dark sides,
a kiss at a time.
Intentionally unaware
I use tools from my
self-expression tool belt,
and I draw the confines of me
on an ice lake – shoreless –
that now starts to melt.
Hand in hand
with my best friend
I bring him in the
rose garden of
my emotions
Roses of dozen of
colours and shades
– the most beautiful ones
my open wounds are –
They may blossom, mature,
desiccate, volatilise in
a second or in a while,
each time…
Repeat —> until they become
forever white.
Self-care, a slight echo,
a mute flow,
the deaf awareness
of my logical mode
A knife slicing a loaf of pain
a comb combing tangles of
both thoughts and subtle
feelings, apparently in vain.
Small streams of tears
– the only caress my cheeks
are going to receive –
Liquid diamonds with which I
will fill up the river – a new home
for my primordial reptile, my croc.
Between the scent of good roses
and sweet waters
even longer it will survive,
forever – at the roots of my mind,
on my smile.
Self-care, the purest devotion
the most primordial, profound Love
I can ever perceive – though most times
I think it is more than I can stand…
Will I ever know my total strength? –
Self-care, an attempt to
understand myself
No applause, no audience
no self-reinforcement
it´s “just” Me, at the end

Lucia Salvato


The most changeable forces of nature, in my mind

Different forces compete, emerge,
interweave into my mind; they stretch
and tighten, they press and pull all my
thoughts, my actions, my speech.
Although easily driven by the different stimuli,
they have a life of their own in my mind.

Like the waves of the ocean – born by
the contact with the shore and died in
my deep sea, away from the world.
Like giant waves rising up so high like walls:
they might come down, one after the other
forever changing my mind and the world.

Mental forces strong like currents. They
drag out my thoughts, following a timeless path
that leads to the world. Where my thoughts meet
my breath, and my mind connects with the world.

Forces like fingers of a hand, they pick up my ideas,
one at a time – or my ideas let themselves
to be picked up by these elegant powers.

Forces that in depth pierce the veil of waters
on which I believe to float. And from that deep rip,
the knowledge of my world can branch out,
unifying, integrating my mind more than before.

And across thousands of such rips
my identity is being shaped.

And my consciousness, like a flame even burning
among the waves of my ocean: a precious heat
that preserves my mind, a blinding light that lights up
memories and thoughts; a tunnel of fire through which
my thoughts one by one, face up to the world.

Consciousness like a fire that burns yet never
consumes my mind, fire that thirsts me and satisfies,
fire that rebuilds and distorts the space,
fire that speeds up or slows down the time: it
continuously draws the borders of this infinite ocean.

But how many ideas, thoughts, memories are
aimlessly floating among the waters no more
warmed by the heat of my consciousness?
How many strong forces – ignored – are now
competing in my mind, in perpetual waiting to ride
the wave and breaking through the world?

Entirely my mind lies upon the dimensions
– spaces and times –
that I almost completely ignore.

Lucia Salvato

February 2012


What is the mind made of?

What is the mind made of?

Of silent musics and voiceless speeches

of liquid words and plastic dreams

of cut off reasonings and unbreathed breaths

keeping together the tiniest bits of me.


What is the mind made of?

Of trails of codes

curled up as spirals of love

quiet forests of trees of thoughts

shaken by warm breezes and big storm of

air, tears and blood.


What is the mind made of?

Of space-times permanently or reversibly deformed

– An immeasurable Alter-Universe inside a cranial box –

Mind, son of the Universe, which is in turn your son

And here I am, like an hologram sprung from

the temporary embrace of all the natural laws.


Lucia Salvato

(23 April 2017)


Matryoshka of dreams


I tie you to my memories,
I weave you into my mind,
– a dream among dreams –
and through a shiver of peace
all the chains become lighter,
a layer of pain evaporates,
the most remote dreams vibrates stronger,
and I free them higher and higher
like birds
who yearned for the purest air.
Time waits for my breaths
– it counts them;
Space unfolds before my eyes
windless and new,
and my mind swallows it,
– reality, a dream –
in one bite.

The time chases the illusions,
the patterns are in my mind.



Burn my mind, o my breath


Burn my mind, o my breath;
Empty all the forgotten
channels of my mind: they will
be filled up with new life.

Burn my mind, o my breath;
The void you left behind
is guiding me into
the darkest and most feared
places of my mind, where all
my certainties disintegrate
and my imagination is of no help.

Burn my mind, o my breath;
Your regenerating blows
have the power to move
the dead loads of this
now living channel of my mind;
your new air is bringing
my past times and future hopes
as gifts for a present moment
so hungry for life.

Burn my mind, o my breath;
The vital and deadly dance
of your blows, are reviving
and extinguishing this great fire
that has no light; at your pace
my emotions fade away and arise,
and as soon as a thought is born
it starts to die; along your blows
of death – as words – these thoughts
find another life.

Burn my mind, o my breath;
This complete darkness of my mind
– so discredited by my rationality –
only shows me the pale reflections
of the colours of the world,
while at each your regenerating blow
myself die and again is born.

Burn my mind, o my breath.
Here, among the black flames of
my mind, at each moment, a new search
for light restarts: passing through
my eyes and animating my body,
it never will stop.

Until I point it to home.

April 2012

Image: © Dana Bradford