By Oscar Rosales
What more can I say,
so many words it takes
to describe a child
looking at the stars,
visiting other worlds,
seeing faces
he does not want to see.
Ploughing deserts and crying
over the tender grass
for the first time.
Learning the lessons,
defenceless inhabitant of a
small, simple paradise,
longing during the march.
Rose nostalgia,
ardent well.
Spiritual music from the
stars, sidereal void
towards the infinite.
The eternal language of the heart
down-trodden by a perishable
reality of hypocrisy and
conventionalism.
Perhaps it wants to return
like that little one,
to my abode without end.
Maybe I was already bitten
by the snake of
a world indifferent
to love, and I am ready
to take off.
I prefer to not give up being
a child, as the four wise
in the beginning of time.
Consciousart.org is not responsible for content
of links provided by Artists.
All content © Copyright 2000-2001 by Consciousart.org or by Artist.
All Rights Reserved unless otherwise stated by Artist.
Please address contributions to the Director.
|
