Swings, under the edge of night.
Starting to go high.
Carrying those girls to the sky,
up and down and from left to right.
The wind hits their cheeks,
and printed on her face a big smile.
One of them jumps,
the other one laughs.
Remember when the swings carried you to the sky.
When the wind blew your hair,
while you smiled, pleased.
Showing those dimples on your cheeks.
Don’t forget when you use to throw your head back and let your hair touch the floor,
when your friends pushed you forward.
Because I won’t forget, after that big jump,
the ghostly movement of a swing.
Taken from: url
In the middle of a storm I can observe,
what life whispers behind my back.
And as I see her turn her face away,
I can see my world turning black.
Now I see the shy lightning bolts,
appear in the middle of the gray.
Looking directly at us.
Just under sinister sheets,
the shackles for now quiet and dark,
waiting for murmurations in the lonely streets,
hearing desperate voices scream outside.
Goodbye we say when we see them go away,
goodbye we say when we try to hold on.
Goodbye we use to say when that train departs,
carrying everything we had.
So we continue watching him go,
and we start to use to,
that terrible loneliness,
that never left our sides.
The train that never runs out of energy,
that flies away with our opportunities.
That sometimes end as a tragedy,
for all our communities.
Year after year,
spring after spring.
Just as we start to see things crystal clear,
what time brings.
To be successful,
in what we want to get,
we should learn to forget.
And we have to learn to say goodbye,
drop that treacherous past.
Finally, everything will come to an end,
and we’ll leave behind that old train.
Enter through the mahogany door that has been constructed out of old memories, just stumbling upon an empty space below my feet, hiding in a black and low cave. The woods outside begin to turn red and blue and everything vanishes, the wood starts cracking only five seconds before I fall. A white tunnel, with some little blue dots. I can hear the sea and the birds but I can’t see where they come from. Trying to make my way back to the top I slip down a black stair, falling down from an attic.
Inside a carton box, coiled, eyes closed, I pretended to be invisible but they found me. Light is fading by now, reading a blue newspaper and I have to say goodbye to the lines in the floor. I get into the car and wave through the window. They enter again through the mahogany door and I stay outside, feeling raindrops fall over me. The mahogany door closed and my joy inside. And maybe I already forgot those times now but please, Mahogany, don’t forget the memories I have given to you since I’ll ask you about them when we see each other again. Someday, just in that same door constructed with mahogany wood.
Taken from: url