There are moments when all is tranquil,
Tremendously tranquil, I would say.
The calm will not always be calm
A grand calm can demolish our lives in a second and
Leave us forever orphans.
There are moments when nothing is of comfort, it is not important
To think of you, a spring day is no longer enchanting, it seems that
All has died, that all is quite, it matters little if your skin taste like the sea,
Like earth, like paradise.
There are moments when the prose of life assaults the senses;
Blocks our nerves, obstructs the arteries, freezes cells.
There are moments when an immense silence surrounds us, so immense
That we don’t find a way to escape and we allow ourselves to slip in its
Tidal wave of death, of nothingness; a surreal nothing, but so present, so close.
There are days when the prose of life comes to question, and collapse the
Walls that our fear is so determined in lifting.
There are no perfect places; there is no place to come to, always
Dragging our necessities, pains and cowardice; that cowardice that
Torments us and reiterates the calm to the ear, in every instant of this journey
That what is real is not so, that the masks fall and shatter when knowledge confronts them.
There are moments when all is without meaning and life lacks words. We remain immersed in an empty life; formless, ethereal.
We remain like plates suspended in air.
The history of your love is so distant!
There are moments when April doesn’t say anything,
Everything becomes mute,
Or just dead.
The history of your love; doesn’t say anything!