when berries have dried
go and pick up the seeds,
replant them in the garden
of love in your backyard
which is where you began to enjoy
the music of myenahs
and the sight of lillies you planted
in winter
when nothing else grew,
the smell of mint and
the basil leaves that did not survive
are all there to recall
only if you would have time
to listen, touch and feel
the purity of intimate air
without beaconing an expectation
and yet so sure
so certain
but not without doubts
of intentions impure
you have to decide
whether to smile and laugh
or be worried and
then cry
to ask for the moments
which can only revive
the pain
but then when did you really like
the clear sky
you have yearned for clouds
that will dissipate sooner than later
though their shadow can create the
illusion of evening
but why not seek
the silence of the night
\when birds have gone back to their nest
and he is around
who you rever, healed and brought back
from the cliff of time
only to be left
alone when spirit was waiting to be sublime