Counting sheep

One sheep, for the early morning breeze.

Two sheep, for all the faces we won’t ever know.

Three sheep, for the conversations taking place in the street.

Four sheep, for the spirits dancing between the crowd.

Five sheep, for the things we achieve.

Six sheep, for the things we lose.

Seven sheep, for the family waiting for us at home.

Eight sheep, for the true friends holding our hands.

Nine sheep, for the first smile of a thundering heart in love.

And ten sheep.

Ten sheep for the musicians that make souls sing, for the writers that make hearts break and the avid dreamers who fall but know how to get up again.

And until I get to the last sheep I’ll know that the road hasn’t come to an end and that I’ll have the opportunity to start the count again.




Crescent moon

Tell me, crescent moon,

the times I’ve written a letter under your light.

Tell me, crescent moon,

the papers you’ve seen burn.


Only you know the times I’ve cried,

because words aren’t enough to tell what I feel.

Only you know the times I’ve looked up to the sky,

thinking if someday my dream will come true.


I’m sorry, crescent moon, if I’ve wasted my tears,

flooding my bedroom in the darkness.

I’m very sorry, if I haven’t listened to your advices

and I’ve made the same mistakes over and over again.


Please, crescent moon, wherever he is,

protect him and illuminate his path with your light.

Please, crescent moon, I beg you,

never leave him alone.

Keep him under your gaze forever because,

even though I’m not with him, I’ll keep thinking of him everyday and night.


I promise, crescent moon, I’ll be more sensible.

I’ll take into account your advices,

and listen to your lessons.

I promise, crescent moon, I’ll keep my secrets,

and I’ll just share them with you,

since you are always watching me.


Thank you, crescent moon,

because although I can’t see you every night,

I can see you in his eyes.

Thank you, for looking after me,

for taking care of every step I take.


And I want to give you special thanks,

my dear crescent moon,

for allowing me to meet him once.

It would be a pleasure for me to meet him twice.

The reflection in the window

Every afternoon he is there, I see through the window of the neighbor’s house and can see him. By all means he’s there, playing around with his dog and kicking his ball. There isn’t an afternoon that I don’t see the reflection in the neighbor’s window and see him there, having fun in the park, in the swings, in the slide, under the warming sun. It doesn’t matter if its raining, he’s always there. Crossing the railing over and over again, from one side to another.

That little kid with jeans and stripped polo t-shirt, with golden hair, tender eyes and an indelible crystal smile. It is five o’clock and he’s still there, he stays there until dusk, running under the yellowish sunset. I can hear his laughter, I can hear him enjoy every second of his life. But he is only an illusion of the past, I have never seen him standing in front of me. He only lives in the reflection of the window and his voice is just an echo. One of those echoes that race through my mind. One of those I can’t forget.