Faust

To the beloved,
Never far from ruined minds,
Translucent Luna

High, up

Isn't it breathtaking?
This sparkling morning,
when the night, so cold,
shuts the curtain of his dream,
and the black mirror, once more
is a window to his self-esteem?
When from the corner of his eye,
he gets the faint whiff of hope?
Look, dressed now, and outside,
walking briskly towards his goal,
he is vigorous and in control!

Oh, Mikael, you are first in love
with the mystery of his night,
and in the morning you extol
what you just barely forgot?
Do you see, at the onset of dawn,
circling high, your own delight?
Like a boy of four, without restraint,
your feathers resplendent in flight.

Rafael, Mikael, my angels,
the meaning of Glory
is not lost among your lot.

Lord, said Mephistopheles in thought,
are you in the mood for a wager?
That he too, can, You forbid, fall?
For easy it is to do right
when you haven't tasted much plight.
But under the unjust whip of Time,
all alone, his worth in doubt,
he waits for me like a bride.

You underestimate, as always,
what we planted in a human heart.
Agreed, go forth and let him decide.


Lost

Here I am, aimless,
in these narrow streets,
I made it, I don't know how,
through that horrible night!
Oh God! What have I done
that hasn't made me cold?
I have nothing but remorse,
lost in my electronic world,
I couldn't, I tried, no, I didn't.
Powerless, in front of her mind,
or fearful, or much worse.

If only I could, I would
give anything to see her sound!
My life, shriveled and old,
hers, whatever she stole.
When I think of her state,
lost in the chemical brine,
shivering in some hole,
under a heap of jackets
and torn wet cardboard.
And for what?
The wrong turn,
the wrong smile for the wrong man,
and later on, alone.

At the office, in a corner cube
he sits heavily in his spot
behind the incandescent tube,
and peers at the symbols of wealth,
dictating, for most, a certain death,
but perhaps not at his hand.
Tracking the inevitable
warming of the once bountiful land,
the increased wickedness,
poisoned water, asthmatic air,
the never-ending war,
adding to his massive despair.
"Oh! What good is this brain
with the constant tug of pain?
We sit and watch and eat.
We consume what we can't afford
both in narrow and in wide.
When this malice, ours, is gone,
only a heap of plastic and hide
will remain under the sun.

But then, through the window, a sight
of a teenager in a careless dress
dark hair fluttering in the wind,
dark clouds parted by the rising moon,
unaffected, round, and white,
the undisputed queen of night.

"Heavenly spirit, you must be alive!
For too distinct an object,
too observant of me you seem.
Come close, let me hear your voice.
Show me, once more,
that there's too a plane unseen"

In a state between dream and real,
something strange finally appears.
He is alone, in that vast maze
of connected cubes and alleyways
when an intense light,
a silvery and high contrast affair,
fills his being from toe to hair.

"Funny! I only see a worm,
where there should be a man at norm!
Who thinks himself my equal?
Uninvited, bold enough to call?"

For his life, he could not answer at all
such was the power of the words,
that poked him like sharp swords.
Later, when they had passed,
and he regained his feeble mind,
what he wanted the most,
was that taste of size and might.

"I need a way to capture that,
a helping hand, letting me, finally,
to walk the way that is right,
not for pleasure or frivolous deeds,
but for something of substance,
for a path made of and for light."

He almost saw himself, with a grin,
helping his sister stand upright.
The arrogance of man!


Catch

Enters Mephistopheles.

That very night, bound in sheets,
our hero tosses and turns.
No longer lame, in fire he burns.
No, he cannot possibly sleep,
and getting up, hears a rattle
coming from the deep.
Could someone be inside?
At this hour of the night?
Hastily dressed, and trembling soon,
he ventures in the living room,
where, to his surprise,
he finds someone sitting tight.

"And who might you be?"
But his mind is spinning hard,
noting the expensive clothes,
and the handsome features, so bold.
Not a thief, not from his work,
exuding power from every pore.
He couldn't keep his eyes away
already a premonition of the price to pay.

"You asked for me, did you not?
I am here to help you see",
he produced a bag of pot
and started rolling his cigar,
"that for us, living high,
the sound of an unhappy sigh,
is cause enough to come for fun,
and figure out what can be done."

"I am Mephistopheles,
Lord of unanswered desire",
as his smoke filled up the room,
"here to grant what you crave.
You seem to have forgotten
that pleasure, this key of fire
unlocks your unhappy heart.
It is the gratification
of your beautiful but neglected part
that also needs salvation.
Or, if you prefer, your mind."

"Your nature is plain for me,
I clean up the mess you make,
you or frogs, or whatever lives
in the recesses of this dirty lake.

But I must confess, lately,
no matter what I gather,
your kind seems to outnumber
everything else like a plague."

Faust, didn't know what to make
of this lunatic, this late.
With the torrent of words,
he could almost be thinking
that perhaps, before sleeping,
he had eaten a bad meal.
To humor him, he blurted out
a simple "show me."

Next, he remembers seating,
in the back of a crowded bar,
some sort of music, drumming,
that usually would have him scream,
didn't register all that loud.
In front, on the sofa, three girls,
eying him with, what, interest?
He laughed at this, of course.
A man as he, not even in his youth
he would have had the charm,
or even the physical force.

"Not so, my friend." Came a voice.
Mephisto was grinning.
"If you would be so kind
as to believe, you'll find
that you are as they, young,
handsome, and used to play.
plain to see through her eye."

The rest of the night a blur,
for he had demonic fervor,
locked in a warm embrace
Faust stares at the ceiling,
his mind, for once, not at race.

The shadows are dancing,
to the sound of his heartbeat.
In the room, you could swear,
tilting towards him,
the attention of all in his care.
Intoxicated with power,
for once, his whining stops,
he feels her flesh in his palm,
concave, abandoned
and most of all, calm.

Later, in conversation with Mephisto,
he hears himself asking for more,
more time to think,
more time to explore.

"I am willing to provide.
But I'd like your word,
as a matter of fact,
in a written contract.
Humans are forgetful,
and I have too many to track."

Faust considers this at length.
Not that he had to have youth
(although it was worth
just the vigorous strength)
but more to the point,
he already lived in hell,
and did so for years.
Not once, a loving pair of eyes
greeted him in the morning,
as they did so today.
They were translucent green.
And he had no way
of fending off their sheen.
"Agreed." And that was that.

A smooth cold blade
licked his wrist like a snake
to produce not one but
three dots of pure red,
perfectly round in freefall.
Time skipping a beat, Faust
in stupor and perhaps still drunk,
heard himself murmur,
"God! help me!"
as his father's words, nightly,
while he was half asleep,
pushed through the door,
left ajar, ever so slightly.

The three balls hit the floor
And bounced off like a star.
Mephisto sunk his feather pen in,
a practiced surgeon from afar,
in the wound, then in the skin,
and making a mess of it all.

Now, Faust, pen in hand,
in tears, the pain was intense,
signed his name on the line
to complete his complete fall.

But the signing did go wrong.
Mephisto stared at the contract,
something was amiss, but what?
He would look at it later on.

A winning hand,
a vein of gold,
a simple yes to a simple quest,
and our vanity knows not our worth.
With the effort, it feels cold,
with judgment, our own,
through the layers of guilt
surrounded by the case
of the unfortunate,
of the rest of the human race.

Horrified, the angels stare:
Running into his sister, Faust,
one late frivolous night,
throws her a wad of coins,
thinking of the next best bar.
His juvenile hunger awash
in games of give and take.
From one into another
narcotic warm lake.
Not even aware of the hurt

he inflicts at everyone near,
his body is now master of fun
and his beautiful mind
his humble, hurtful tone
are no doubt completely gone.

Until he cares no moreÉ
Meandering in familiar streets,
one bright crisp morning,
he passes by a young girl,
seeing in her china skin,
large innocent eyes
that open wide to the world,
something that made him ache:
purity, radiance, he knew not what.
It illuminated him from within,
through his expensive clothes
mere rags for countenance of sin.
He did managed a smile
old with self reproach
and something new:
a touch of melancholy.

"My beautiful doll,
why run in such haste?
when the day has just begun?

Let us sit in this quaint park
and spend some idle time
looking at the passerby's,
and be sure to tell me your name."

She rushed and almost fell.
"My name is Mart. And I'm late.
Please let me go on my way.
Nothing good can come of this,
you are obviously very rich,
and lost in this neighborhood.
What you want of me, I know well."

"I haven't asked for anything but time."

"Of which I have none."

Mart quickened her pace,
vanishing behind the fountain.

"Mephisto, you promised
all my wishes come true.
She is what I want the most"

"What you ask is impossible.
I have no power over good.

There needs to be weakness
for me to take hold."

"Then our contract nil and void.
You exaggerated your might.
The others I won alone,
I don't recall asking for help,
except in the esthetic domain,
which should be easy for
any competent surgeon."

"Let us see where she goes."

The world grew around them
until they were two clouds
buzzing around the park.
Faust forgot his quest,
for the sheer joy of speed,
and no weight at all.
They followed Mart's trail,
and saw her walk up the stairs
to an apartment above the store.

"Her aunt, who is lonely"
Sang Mephisto in a high pitch.

"My dearest Mart!
How pretty you look today,
what a lovely dress! Is it new?"

"Good morning Aunt Margaret."

"Is there anything wrong?
You seem flushed, unwell."

"I met a stranger today.
he was handsome I must say,
with great sadness in his eyes,
he hung to me as for his life.
I was thinking I was harsh."

"Nonsense! People are so bold
you must shake them off like flies.
You know nothing of his kind."

"I should have inquired
and perhaps lent an ear,
to his deep troubles I'm sure.
You should have seen
how he appeared! How in fear!"

Faust could not take his faint eyes

away from her graceful face.
Until she passed right through him
and backing up he fell
out the second story window
not realizing the vanishing spell.
He bounced on the pavement
and woke up a man with pain.

"You lucky one! She likes you.
Leave the rest up to me."


Dance

A knock at the door startles them
Mart goes down the stairs to see
who is bothering her aunt.

"You'll excuse me", says Mephisto
"but you're too young to be
the lady I wish to see."

"You must mean my aunt, I'll get her"

"Who is it, Mart?"

"Some man, he looks like
he came from far."

"Show him in."

"You can come up, she's home."

Mephisto comes slowly up the stairs.
He is of course out of ordinary,
attractive to whoever he wants to be.

"I have news of your late husband."

"Late?" Asks Margaret.

"I'm afraid he no longer lives.
An unfortunate affair."

"Please sit down and let us know."

"I met him in Florence, I think.
He was traveling with a girl."

"A girl?" Came Margaret's surprise.
She knew that her ex-husband
was selling stuff in Europe,
what, she never really understood.
But he was a broken man,
his ambitions ever smaller,
doing lately the best he could.

"Yes, a local woman, quite small
and very attractive I might add.
He stayed with her, a rich widow,
every time he came to Europe."

"Oh, the swine!"

"She helped him settle down,
being herself quite lonely.
We were both traveling by car,

going to the same coastal town,
when a van veering right in front
came and took half of the car.
I looked, but he was in that half,
crushed between metal and tar.
I more or less took upon me
to bring to closure his life.
His widow took all the money
he had become wealthy."

"I cannot believe it. Not a cent,
not a word came at all for me!"

"Until I heard of your existence.
So here I am, to bring you the news,
unfortunately and not much more."

"He was always useless to me,
in life and in death, to others only
he benefited, it appears, greatly!"

"To be frank, I don't see how
he could have left such as you behind."

"Oh, you just say that!

You don't even know me!"
Margaret had forgotten her rage.
It has been so long since she had
held an amusing person at hand.

"But I have eyes, to see."

"You are just being kind
to an old lady you found.
What is your plan?
Will you stay in Montreal long?"

"A couple of days at most.
I'm due back over the ocean
but I thought to look around
and catch up with some affairs.
As a matter of fact,
if you two ladies won't mind
come and join me and a friend.
We're eating not far from here,
at a place called L'Express.
Eight O Clock. We'll sit at the rear."

Without waiting for the reply
Mephisto bid them goodbye.

"What turn of events!"
Margaret has not forgotten
the happiness of her youth.
She is prancing around,
trying every outfit she finds.

Mart is more subdued.
She is uneasy about the friend
but cannot back off for her aunt.
Whatever is in store for them,
she will have to face off.

"Did you see him flirt with me?
He certainly looked interesting,
distinguished even,
don't you find?"

It was hard to concentrate on much
until the fateful Eight O Clock.

The restaurant looked expensive,
painted chocolate brown,
and full of people, well dressed,
hip glasses and goatees.
The sound of clinking wine glasses
and lively, drunk conversation.


Game's end

Astute reader, you will guess,
without the description of details,
what transpired that night.
You will register Mart's surprise
to find Faust sheepishly bright
and you will soon tire
of Margaret's words disguise
her unending mundane tails.
And yet, without much effort,
there grew something strong
and magnetic and sweet
between two sets of eyes.

You will compare Faust
at the beginning and end
of this not uncommon game,
his progression from thought,
lonely in his self-made barricade,
to the constant companionship
of one of the angels, albeit blind
to the foregone and beautiful fate.

And Mephistopheles,
without choice, although he did
refuse to be a servant once,

trying in vain to tempt Faust,
already unselfish and seduced.

How many times must our image
be shattered and rebuilt again,
for us to see that in the end
what remains we cannot gather
or save or spend (even a soul).

Call him God, see his angels fly,
or peer into a microscope,
pondering the machinery of life,
or violently be thrown away
from the burning flame's envelop
by the saving hand of Mother.
For all in the end is learning.

And now laughter can be heard
from two lives being joined
from children playing loud
and also, a thunder, in distance,
from above.

This world revolves around detail
each a complete universe inside,
each fork a delight, a delusion

of our projections grand and small.

We will leave the price to pay
for later, for the old and dim age,
in the white room of the hospital
where it doesn't matter at all.