1d
The Human Soul
The human soul is a beautiful world; very beautiful. How much I loved it and believed in it, isn't it the one who plants the basil? Isn't it? Where truth tells all the unimaginable beauty, never an illusion, it is the beauty that descends early, shaking hands with the boys in the streets.
Don't you see it descending every day? its hands soft, planting the basil, how do they want it ugly? Can the one who plants the basil be ugly? How can they lie all this lie? Just come a little, towards your soul, towards a world that does not know ugliness and lies.
Yes, ugliness is not real, and it will not be, no matter how hard they try, don't you see that they are always disappearing? They stole everything and did not leave a flower. I wonder where they got this cruel heart from? Did they not know that the evenings are warm, and that the fields have their delicate hymn? How can there be all this darkness in their hearts? I really don't understand.
The human soul is a beautiful world; very beautiful. How much I loved it and believed in it, isn't it the one who plants the basil? Isn't it? Where truth tells all the unimaginable beauty, never an illusion, it is the beauty that descends early, shaking hands with the boys in the streets.
Don't you see it descending every day? its hands soft, planting the basil, how do they want it ugly? Can the one who plants the basil be ugly? How can they lie all this lie? Just come a little, towards your soul, towards a world that does not know ugliness and lies.
Yes, ugliness is not real, and it will not be, no matter how hard they try, don't you see that they are always disappearing? They stole everything and did not leave a flower. I wonder where they got this cruel heart from? Did they not know that the evenings are warm, and that the fields have their delicate hymn? How can there be all this darkness in their hearts? I really don't understand.
PROSE POETRY
