Age

. Age I part my days: One half for daughters not able yet To count by hand Or walk with open heart, And a half for the man huddling upon the age As heavy as the war Or, like a palm with no breath of odour. What left I turn to birds Replete with white… Fleeting sea gulls, Butterflies lisping with magic, Signs of Surprise, Tales about elves, And the carol Living deep in the dream Narrated by the grandma As she was warning me To run away So that the core of the sea would cool off. But, I forget her warning, Wandering far out in my head, But .. the clock calls to my dreams So I come back… To part my days: One half for daughters not able yet To jump as high as the wash rope Burdened with woolen clothes, And half For the man sitting in silence Away… Sipping the nectar of the present And cursing upon the future sorrow.