One day I was visiting this gallery…
A tremendous place where time remains suspended
On a string of images.
Walking all over the halls of creativity,
And admiring everything
With the twisting of my face,
I got disturbed by this painting
That was telling an enchanting story …
And while searching for the rhymes
That form its colors,
I observed the details of its beauty …
That moment in time
When lovers are too insane,
Lost in this unbearable whirl
Of both sweetness and madness …
Caught up deep inside of each other
… in a place called silence.
Here they survive like some bewildered artists
With a leg in the sacred reality
While the other one struggling
In the impossible profane.
When I hear the blues, I get emotional,
Each of them whispers.
Lost in these emotions
They are desperately searching
For a piece of the hideous reality
In which to hide.
Lovers … these aliens from the ordinary,
These heroes of their own stories…
Am I the only one that feels this from distance?
They keep asking.
They say love is blind…
I`d say love is mute instead
Like the ocean in its role of a storyteller
When the waves are continuously
When messages are sent from far away
And yet felt so close,
Burning the skin,
Disturbing the heart,
Making the brain wild.
Love is mute
And yet so alive and trembling.
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