3.11.15

The Eyes Behind Sunrise

I was waiting for the sun to light the road in the middle of a bridge, hearing the song of excited birds, I can feel they belong to this world, I'm trying to grasp the stains that follow the tempo to the waterwaves which follow the rhythm of colors. In their head flows the sound of the sweet flute, the flute with the name of the goddess, the flute my companion the flute my shelter.
My feet howl me to keep walking, the lake and the fish chant me to stay. Beyond the clouds the light starts to odd. The festival of colors is about to start and nobody else is watching. The flute provides the choir and the air is as cold as the breath of indiference.
The birds squawk extending their wings, the dogs bark showing their teeth, the cars make the sound of progress and the moon still squire me between the daring purples, the untold greens and at the end white. Your face make no noise, no color. But I feel you inside the skin, blowing thoughts, remembering of yesterdays, flavors, smiles, movies and your open small eyes staring as ever, staring behind the sunrise, the hugs and the heat i do not feel. Do you exist? Why are you not here?
I touch my own skin, helps me forget the loneliness. The water would not let me alone and start reflecting the first shy yellows, the promise of the trail brings back the strength. It was just passenger.
Nothing absconds on this side of the highway, with my static feet, the air roam my body, the steam arising from my throat condenses in the air leaving a blurred vision. And those wings are loosen from some meters above, falling into the water, sometimes they catch a fish, sometimes the cold water catches them.
Photo by Daniel Diner ©
I wonder if there is already enough light and I concede to this legs the hard work of carrying this head, which for some reason it will not stop thinking of you. Even if you are not here, even if you have never been. My real company is this sun and this moon that shine and illuminate mi world day a day.
Step by step I throw the left thumb. Where is it going to take me this path?

1 comment:

  1. Sometimes you are on the road and all these feelings go through you like a gasps, and you want to take them, to remember them, to inmortalize them. Those sensations and itches I find them reading your texts. Is like traveling with you and watching and feeling a sunrise everytime I go through your words written with closed eyes and hands on your ears. Thanks for sharing, traveler. That's what traveling is about, isn't it?

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