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Poem

In the temple of silence where you mourn your absence,
The walls dance in shadows of bitterness,
Chalices of dreams shatter with resistance,
In search of the eternal flame of the altar.
Not even pearls are revived,
They whisper not, nor do the bowed gardens baptize,
Living in the hourglass with intertwined moments,
On stairs made of blue and broken words.
I barely penetrate the curtain of unspoken words,
Glittering longings ignited in the nirvana between us,
In the labyrinth of thought, perfect and imprecise,
I wrap sadness in silk cocoons, wrestling with the cold void.
I dream you nimble among clovers and stars,
Wishing to share the half of melancholy,
So that the heart is no longer a battlefield, but a foundation
And laughter may sprout again under a mastless sky.
The inner temple, eye-hollowed, is a scaffold of silence,
When there don’t smile the soulmate pair,
With whom to paint mornings and centuries in succession,
Each unwritten in the book of life, be it ancient.
Clusters of pain congregate under the veil of the moon,
Touches of fate engraved in cedar peaks,
And beyond celestial chants and pale promises,
In the crypt of the soul, winter lays its throne.
You are the poem of love that I tear with trepidation,
The dawn of day will one day bring the news of my gentle extinguishing,
And you will wander in the unclear, faded maps of love,
Unraveling only with half a soul the thickets of lost dreams.

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