Once upon a time
I was a fig
(Yes, a fig)
full of little flowers inside,
plenty of endless dreams…
I was born
in a casual tree
of those that nobody grooms,
of those that never get rain,
of those that drain you to death.
Shrivelled,
punished by birds
who picked on my white sweaty sweetness
and left me scarred,
but made me stronger.
One day,
an arrogant orange,
of a garden nearby,
called for a meeting of peers
and suggested the idea
of forming a fruital system.
(Yes, a fruital system)
The rest of fruits agreed.
So, the orange stood in the centre,
cause she was too tangy to spin.
Everyone else
came forward
in a perfect queue
that started to curl
coiling outwards
around the self-proclaimed star.
The apple, the peach, the pear,
the lemon and even the grape
found quickly a place
in a galaxy they called
“The Juicy Way”.
They all looked so lush,
immaculate,
divine,
waitrosy,
as they floated
in their glorious ether
of mechanically smooth subjects.
I want a place in this system,
I said.
I want to be an aster too.
I deserve to be there,
rotating
in harmony
with you.
The apple and some others
started to giggle
with patronising
swivel-eyed disdain.
I am sorry, my love,
said the eloquent
smiley
sunny leader,
but this is a fruital system
where everything works
out of our own
combined
accord.
Everyone wins,
everyone contributes.
The magnetic fields
of our respective masses
are already balanced.
That is why we levitate up here,
so graciously.
If we take you on,
we will have to open the floodgates of the universe.
How many more fruits
could we feasibly accommodate?
So, after this rational rejection,
I had no choice
but to become
a zero-hours planet,
also known as a comet.
(Yes, a comet)
So now,
I am a wrinkly wild comet
full of odd rugged cracks.
I am not round,
not even pear shaped,
I have no clouds,
no satellites,
no green bits,
no rings of dust,
no frozen lakes of gas…
but I couldn’t care less!
I am a prince of the universe,
planets fear my freedom,
no one knows my trajectory,
it is hard to land on my surface,
I come and go as I please.
I wander
through the cosmos,
invisible,
but for those who dare to see.
My path,
carved in stardust,
enigma
wrapped in velocity,
nursing
the real order of heavens.
Cherries and plums whisper
in secret groves,
mapping lines of exclusion,
but my course defies their plotting,
igniting supernovas
erasing and burning
their schemes.
I fly past the strawberries,
who’ve made peace with their roots,
yet I, the comet,
I, the fig,
refuse to be anchored,
carrying with me
stories of distant orchards,
of worlds to be made
of depths to be dreamed.
In my tail, a spray of seeds,
scattering joy across the void,
each one
a promise of life,
of new beginnings,
of different timelines
converging through love.
I rave
with solar winds,
embracing the chaos,
symphonies of spheres,
where harmony is born
from light,
where gravity
is the syntax
that binds us all.
So let the fruital system rotate,
and rotate,
and rotate
in its orderly perfection.
Let the apple, the peach, the pear,
the lemon, and even the grape
play their moves
so perfectly,
for I am the wild pulse
of this atomic simulation,
a song not to be tamed,
the ever-expanding cosmos,
the heart of many black holes,
cultivating
new stars
timelessly,
timelessly,
timelessly.
Second half of this poem, from “I wander”, written in conjunction with ChatGPT 4o.
Arte & Ideas 
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