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Poem

Beneath the veil of twilight, time lets its shadow fall,
It trickles like quicksilver through the unseen hourglass,
The silent ticking follows us, we, the children of earth,
Try to halt it with the song of remembrance, but it slips away.
The never-ending childhood summers' play was blown,
Seasons found anew in each dewdrop, a pretext for enchantment,
In the sacred pulse of time, a day weaves its end,
Veiling spring in a day of September.
Breathe deeply, feel the cascade of life overflowing,
From the sun that, in your palm, transforms into an entire world,
Day travelers, learning to read anew the planet's movement,
In the unsaturated chromatic range of the first glimpse.
On the path unveiled under rain, steps start the story anew,
Water—the divine painter, replenishing its palette of light and shadow,
Each droplet threading notes onto your skin,
A prelude to rediscovery, an echo in the tympanum of eternity.
Embrace childhood anew, with clear eyes, free of arrows,
Allow yourself to be unsettled deciphering the canvas of life's hues and textures,
Like a wild tapestry on which dream sculptors leave their mark,
And the occasional falling star quintessentializes your inner sky.
Ascent, descent, searching for the lost chord, listen to the murmur of the moon,
Plant in each movement the scent of never-ending amazement of blue,
Unrolling your existence like a symphony where each note is an adventurous world,
And let each evening be an open whisper, a rich tapestry of memory,
A narrative to which tomorrow weaves promises of azure.

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