A springtime showers upon us like a quilt of stars
A springtime showers upon us like a quilt of stars,
The empty house warms in its vacant heart:
Through it pours the summer a river of melted lights,
And days tread softly upon soles of leaves;
Pain and pleasure, timid sisters, murmur in chorus.
Beneath the canopy of nights, I wove illusions in the moonlight,
In a silent film, with frames of untold fervors,
I wrapped up love, beautiful and mad,
Pure freedom, without heavy norms, a soul in a bird's nest.
The days twist, moist weavers in rooms spun silver
And we, in the calm of the everyday,
With simple words enchant the portraits of simplistic moments,
Building our shelter in the warmth of a waking dream,
An open book, pages speaking dreams aloud,
Corners adorned with jewels of oblivion,
Melancholic cats, lazily purring in the silence's casket,
We, tireless creators of worlds cradled in our palm.
In this theater of moments and scents, a verse is our altar,
Carved in eternity by our breath:
A stanza that endures, that cannot be torn from us,
Etched in the heart, like a leaf undefeated by autumn.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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