We are the people of a new era, with patchwork hearts and longings in craters
We are the people of a new era, with patchwork hearts and longings in craters,
The generation of bold dreams sketched on shards of fallen stars.
Let us not forget, let us breathe in: the source of dizzying love springs from our depths,
From the secret garden of the self, where I and me merge in an embrace.
I shall not build a home in handshakes that wither flowers nearby,
I dare to cross over waters when my soul calls, barefoot on the soil of my resolutions,
Where those like me blossom, rising like walnuts in the midst of the desert - unfathomable, ever-growing.
Abandoned will be those masters of bitter whims, whose tangos crushed petals instead of igniting passions,
Those who sketch maps of woe on your beating heart, with anchors of injustice.
I shall be my keeper, the well-digger who delves deep until waters tear free from the dry sand.
I will speak in the voice of opening, with the heavy eyelids of sifted honesty,
I will listen with the blood, with the resonant cavity of my chest, a sacred space of resonance.
Trust in the arrow of the heart, that compass steering our journey through the dispersion of genuine kisses.
Remember, love is the expanse of the ocean that joins us in growth, not the steering of ships towards collision,
It's an ally, which, like the sun in the fight with the dawn, gives you the warmth needed to blossom in cold limestone.
Let's lay side by side the open books of our souls, page next to page of grand becoming.
And above all, over thought and feeling, I shall not leave to oblivion my case valued in divine gold,
I owe a love that rises beyond words, conditions, and chains,
A belief in my own purpose, a categorical refusal to accept anything less than stellar.
Believe in your own divinity, in the waves that beat at your eternity's gate, within you –
The house of love that knows no foreign altar, only its own, vigorous and freely sculpted.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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