There are forgotten fords, in the shadow of our silence, places within us that cry out in waiting
There are forgotten fords, in the shadow of our silence, places within us that cry out in waiting,
A path that flows through the waters of memories, the river of life carries us through hidden valleys,
Someone calls me from far away, wanting to lure me there,
To endow me with words like flowers and to touch my soul with the plant of love,
But what fault have I in this world, with brass gates and fruits of longing?
In the quiet that settles, the nightingales sing at dusk,
In the depths of our beings, castles of memories rise,
Fields with blue and yellow flowers open to us, a universe of colors and emotions,
And together we traverse these landscapes, on our plastic horses, traveling across the waves of time.
Understand that we are travelers on a giant bird, that carries us in her delicate feathers,
In breaths of wind and whispers of wings, she opens paths to new horizons,
We touch the stars with our gazes, as we head toward encounters and unfold fragile wings,
We cleanse the caterpillars from the branches, we free ourselves from the entanglements of our thoughts and desires.
On our way, a girl appears before us, a shy look in her eyes,
She, a creature of the heart, has woven the web of expectations, like a patient spider,
Waiting for us to find ourselves again, to draw our souls closer, to kiss our lips in a promise of happiness,
Let us love, let us discover ourselves in the depth of truth that traverses our beings.
But in a second, the professor appears, with crude gestures, he tears apart our dreams and plans,
The scorched teacher with labyrinthine thoughts hands out grades, like demands of an absurd world,
In the laboratory of loneliness, we experience the bitterness of reality, we live childhood games in an adults' world,
In our eyes, the turmoil of questions and our hidden fears are reflected.
And yet, so much happens within us, we try to cram them into the backpacks of our hearts,
Each believes they are the master of knowledge, that only they know the truths of the world,
But I am considering that blissful time when I lived within my mother's heart,
I was there, in her belly, pondering what I might need,
In sleep, she whispered to me words of magic, of protection, she knew the sweet law of maternal love.
Above the bed, the moon smiled, my eternal sister, watching over us,
And in those moments of tenderness and calm, we experienced moments of immortality, in the light of dreams and love.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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