Poetry

 

 

As the moon goes down, the sun rises (the chant of winter)

 

Let me start very slowly
Let me whisper every letter until I form the first “Word”, we should have fallen down into each others arms, many years ago, when we both were still young, when we both were mad for each other and the world
The village that saw us grow, the one we left behind, in dreams, in never ending histories, in unutterable narratives of crossing the old lake by boat, foot or levitating
Has it be left behind indeed?

Now that I master the principle of  “well spoken”, is when; I feel that more words should be left aside, like when we used to throw pebbles to the other corner of the same lake
The one that you remember well, I am sure
 
 It is very common that evenings like this, when the sun seems to wait a bit longer than usual to go to sleep, when every single creature seems to sing in unison, an old traditional chant
And you and I sigh
But not as we were inspired for the entire spectacle, moreover, it feels as an automatic reaction, as if we were participating without knowing, and then you realise, that you were the main character of the play
And your role is very very important
But one just forgot
And every single thing has come again to us, to reverently apologise for being absent for so long
And we just cry
Without knowing if it is for happiness or sorrow.