I will not say
that my life was a shipwreck,
because I never forget to bring a pious tribute,
I'm always humming, even in the lifeboat,
singing in sad verses, but with so much fervor;
that for your rose I wanted to go back,
but the door was already closed.
And your pictures...
I put them in a scrapbook,
hoping not to seek love in reproaches,
in indifference, and I am able to make
my kind of review of life,
which in appearance should be clear,
without any minimal error,
wanting to be the only ambassador
of your heart and your body.
I will not say
that my shy eyes have also loved your eyes
from the first day of the spring when we met,
that through red roses and blooming bushes
secrets were lost in the air,
winking from the back of some delicate leaves,
and I saw two fireflies dancing,
trying to apologize for spreading the love
among the hopeless,
those who were rolling their tears of rain
in their exuberance,
softened by the perfume of the night
until it cracked for a new day,
with cheery souls,
wanting to make innocent jokes.
I will not say
that my elegant, velvety hand,
with tanned skin now, like bitter chocolate
cracks its unhappiness like a too heavy satchel,
and leaves it as a warranty in the desert of monotony,
that my hair was like the feathers of a croaking raven,
but invisible spiders put their laces around my eyes,
while I had my lips whispering your name, sighing forever,
loaded with a tone of sincere, tender syllables.
But I'm gonna tell you
I've been snoozing in the abyss of love
and this caused us a temporary blindness
in the heart and reason,
and without wanting,
two tears that have been restrained for so long,
one of yours, one of mine,
made our souls united,
and we thought we were able to go both further,
not knowing whether, how, when, where
to play one last card.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC
I will not say
that my life was a shipwreck,
because I never forget to bring a pious tribute,
I'm always humming, even in the lifeboat,
singing in sad verses, but with so much fervor;
that for your rose I wanted to go back,
but the door was already closed.
And your pictures...
I put them in a scrapbook,
hoping not to seek love in reproaches,
in indifference, and I am able to make
my kind of review of life,
which in appearance should be clear,
without any minimal error,
wanting to be the only ambassador
of your heart and your body.
I will not say
that my shy eyes have also loved your eyes
from the first day of the spring when we met,
that through red roses and blooming bushes
secrets were lost in the air,
winking from the back of some delicate leaves,
and I saw two fireflies dancing,
trying to apologize for spreading the love
among the hopeless,
those who were rolling their tears of rain
in their exuberance,
softened by the perfume of the night
until it cracked for a new day,
with cheery souls,
wanting to make innocent jokes.
I will not say
that my elegant, velvety hand,
with tanned skin now, like bitter chocolate
cracks its unhappiness like a too heavy satchel,
and leaves it as a warranty in the desert of monotony,
that my hair was like the feathers of a croaking raven,
but invisible spiders put their laces around my eyes,
while I had my lips whispering your name, sighing forever,
loaded with a tone of sincere, tender syllables.
But I'm gonna tell you
I've been snoozing in the abyss of love
and this caused us a temporary blindness
in the heart and reason,
and without wanting,
two tears that have been restrained for so long,
one of yours, one of mine,
made our souls united,
and we thought we were able to go both further,
not knowing whether, how, when, where
to play one last card.
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