BEYOND THE SILENT CIRRUSES

The seconds fly by,
one after another,
as I sink
in the depths of time.
There,
the loops of the hours
are narrower and narrower
for the heart
that seeks shelter
among the recesses of the depths.
But immortal dreams resurface,
impetuous;
they break oxidized chains of imprisonment,
they paint new stories,
they fly high,
beyond the mountains,
beyond the silent cirrus.
Dreams keep the heart company,
revolving in the sky
among the arcana of imagination.
The dawn lovingly
caresses the countryside
moistened by the night dew.
The morning unfolds
like a tender bud in spring.
I pine for desires,
of feelings made of utopias,
after a flock of chimeras
has dragged away ancient disillusions.
I do not dare to ask fate
what will become of me?
All my poems get drowned
in the turbulent waves of life,
while memories eclipse,
similarly to dreams,
thus,
as the mist thins
around the halo of the sun.
I live in expectation
for a new poem
to glide from another dimension,
from a sky where everything melts
and then dissolves
into a thousand rivulets neglected by time,
in warps woven by the unknown.
The dying darkness
is dazed
by a cold mistral
and the soul finds shelter
behind the tarnished crystals of the window.
In a timeless delirium,
I hear your voice vibrating,
your voice
that softly whispers my name.
Heavenly Mother,
please do not abandon me
in this twilight ordeal.
Sadness makes sprout and wither
the things I yearn for most.
From up there,
Heavenly Mother,
sweeten the spasms of my heart,
as it fabricates a prayer
that blends faith and torment.