By Oscar Rosales
I sentence you: Guilty.
To make me fall in this
soft elevation.
You brought me to the amphitheatre
of the history of the universe,
of the universes…
Time blows like a wind again,
to move the swarm of shooting-stars,
poured into wavy movement,
for some silent eyes to land
in the mystery of the ancient magnetism,
force that brings them
an inaudible melody that explodes
in the heart like a magic harp,
without treachery, but with the heart full of
celestial flowers.
Continuous movement of what seems
an eternity to our superficial eyes,
that appears to be a swift blinking
in the absolute.
Aurora,
without seeing you I get
dissolved in dancing dreams
to the rhythm of oriental percussions
and medieval melodies.
In curly read hair,
in blue crystal
that from above only I am able to feel
barely, an aroma of the infinite delight.
Wave in an interminable humming
in a night where the mysteries
were revealed when the curtains of the
imminent were drawn back…
And my soul emerged from its abode of peace,
to attend the holy dance
of the goddesses of the creation.
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