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Poem

In the heart of fallen forests we stand,
an ocean of shadows slides beneath us,
leaves of light, threads of dusty time,
and in that dense silence, an old murmur
begins to tell the tale of our forgetfulness.
They tell us we must look,
put on glasses of stars,
to see the invisible, unseen links
that traverse our entire flesh and soul.
In each deep breath of fir and pine,
a secret whispered in every wave of the sea,
the intertwined story of lives carrying
the worries and joys of centuries past.
But in waves of our steel and smoke
we fall towards the darkness of our own oblivion.
Against the wind and rain we fight,
but we do not see the spark slowly dying in the summer foliage.
We do not see the constant pulse of the miracle
in a beetle, a flower, a glassy bird,
crushing under the weight of our ignorance
the fragile beauty of ancestral harmony.
We must return, reignite
a lighthouse in this vast emptiness,
embrace Gaia, understand
the salty tears flowing through rivers,
pray together in a green symphony,
our hearts one with the song of the wind,
feel once more that primordial rhythm.
For cosmic laws will not forgive us,
and our roots may detach from the earth
if we do not learn to journey together,
in that harmonious dance of the dream,
an immense blue, an endless green,
a winged prayer on the edge of twilight.
And then, perhaps, in that common embrace,
we will find the way to restore the connection,
the simplicity of a butterfly's flight, a vow,
not to destroy, but to love this terrible mosaic
of life, of ourselves, of infinity.
Oh, what a paradigm of desires and chains,
only the whole can remain,
and together, let us rise above the abyss
from which fly the shadows of the past, the future,
with hope that the status of the present shall be reborn
with an unstoppable love.

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