By Mario Flecha
We have the strange privilege of having two collaborators who go by exactly the same name. There is our dear north London friend but there is also another Mario Flecha, a Brasilian writer who lives in Alberta, Canada. Here are eleven haiku by him to soothe those rough hours that always appear when the day breaks down with weight of time
Moonlight on snow.
The wings of a dead moth.
Dry leaves in the cold breeze
Nothing new in the news
The same old samsara.
Ephemeral revolution of dark clouds out of volcanic depths of time
Reality is a debatable matter.
After all one’s journey a line is traced A to Z Is it a Where? Is it a What? Can you tell me? Is it a dot? Or just a pause in the flight of that moth?
The poet is a pretender
The poet is a pretender,
Just pretends what really is.
through the steelness of Churchill Square.
Peeled petals of broken hearts sitting
by Churchill’s stare.
all left is the sound of the air being
by the windmill’s blades.
Running among stones a creek plays
music in my heart
A name reveals the skin of our mystery.
It is a piece of the puzzle.
I lie on words like scattered cards of an oracle laid and never played,
while the city runs awoken laying its trades of lies.
Like ashes awakening from a final sleep
a friendly wind blowing softly
lights the fire underneath
Eyes Wide Shut
Listen, with eyes wide shut; snow flakes dripping the sound in a dark street, morning the day.
Mario Flecha is from Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais, and has been living in Alberta, Canada, since 2001. He has published five poetry books =one of them a national prize- plus a collection of short stories some of which have appeared in anthologies of contemporary Brasilian writing.