Come have a peek,
these doors of the heart
don’t open by themselves.
Mind the rust,
for some thoughts died quickly
oxidized by the stinking air
They never passed through the heart.
Mind the accumulated dust,
for some thoughts entered and suffocated,
sadly turned to ashes
without even tasting the blood.
Their resurrection is impending.
Mind the mystic music,
for it heals and unifies a few chosen thoughts,
here they mate and produce the progeny of an image,
which I paint with my palette of words.
Mind the warm divine river.
On its bank, I stand and paint the image,
with the air caressing my hair and
the wet grass below my feet.
The Confluence of above all,
is what you are reading,
is what I offer everyday
to the gods and mortals
who I meet in the path
of my destiny.