Tall cliffs covered with tiny yellow flowers,
a sky painted violet,
and the scorching sun of summer.
We walk to the spring to drink fresh water.

Teenagers are swimming in the little river,
the shade of the trees cools the water even more.
How delightful it is to be here
as if you are filled with love.

A gentle breeze touches your faded hair,
making you forget all sorrows,
even the most painful ones.

Your child walks ahead already grown
You still see the cliffs, along whose edge you both follow the path.

What could be a better feeling than the need to eat, though everything is tasteless until you try blueberry and berry ice cream at the girl’s house; you think maybe you won’t leave and instead sit on her couch every day, eating this wonder slowly…

On this leather couch you feel such comfort that you want to stay; you want to tell the girl, “You must be a witch,” and at the same time take her onto your lap so you do; the touch of her body scares you at first until you feel her soft breast in your hand, “You surprised me,” you think.

You might believe in Shakespeare’s deadly love, you might fall in love with this long-haired creature. You still taste that berry flavor in your mouth, and after leaving the house you buy an unhealthy Red Bull; you remember your grandfather saying it’s better to drink wine with him, and you laugh recalling how she had stumbled into the bathtub naked and drunk…

Maybe you could feel love, too.

can you be written as Byron?
To travel in time and revive his thoughts,
maybe you too are great like him,
oh Lord Byron,
your tempestuous and raging mind,
like a rose planted in the ravines,
thorny and unreachable.

Maybe the weather will change,

A break in the cycle of climate’s flow...
Let the snakes leave our homes behind,
The ravines where chill and dew combine
To burst into fresh, green tender leaves,
And maybe coolness will return with ease.

The water in the wells still cold and deep,
My grandmother can draw it, secrets keep.
The trees will soon shed all their leaves away...

and when night fell,
I drew heavy curtains over the translucent ones.
With my mind, I gazed somewhere into the black sky
I thought I too might glimpse
a bright star
that would announce the birth of a great one.
The seas shimmer blue
somewhere in the darkness.
At its shore,
a man strokes a woman’s long black hair.
Oh, darkness has descended.

In the rivers where there are many fish,
the paths are winding.
The fisherman longs to get there.
Fast rivers are more dangerous
like unfulfilled dreams that we have forgotten.
Every morning, the fisherman goes out to fish,
dreaming of reaching those depths.

the dreams that leave me behind your back,
love in autumn,
and lying on brittle leaves.
There’s a long road to reach you,
and with every dawn,
I wither away, thinking of you.