The breeze gently laughs at my window, with the innocence of a child who knows no evil
The breeze gently laughs at my window, with the innocence of a child who knows no evil,
Carrying dust and rain, gently laying them in front of the window that leads to dreams,
There were days when I took my canvas into the garden, where the flowers knew my secret,
I would stretch my arms and mix colors into the wind that whispered in vivid hues.
Petals murmured in bright blue and soft pinks, falling from the lips of roses,
And the sun’s rays poured like honey melting on the cheek of the day,
Sparrows whispered soft secrets to each other while my brush danced,
As if it knew what the heart feared to speak, in the silence of times past.
Now silence weighs heavily on my chest, unceasingly, like an echo of memories,
But the garden waits for me like an old friend who remembers all that once was,
And the garden asks if I still know how to make color from loneliness, silence from the sky,
Alas! I no longer reply, I gaze into the distance at my canvases fading, losing their brilliance.
Time once poured and painted with the sweat of my dreams now slowly unravels,
Buried in corners of the soul, where colors once danced, shadows of longing remain,
I let my heart lose itself in the memory of days when creation was a song,
And I wonder if I will ever find again the magic to turn silence into pure art.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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