A Stone Man

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Never thought I´d slowly grow drained 

of seeing the hazy lights of this bright city,

after having pondered between two gateways.

All this time, I eluded the lamentable passersby,

minding to always repel away the plane ticket.

 

Under the whispering, unmoving silent stars,

which twinkled away my adulterous laments,

I packed my regretful depart into a bag of misery.

 

That night, I walked under dazzling, luminous light,

wondering where the wind shall push me aside.

After having wasted the ticking of time´s arms,

I woke up; pinched by pointy, pristine grass.

I was bounded outside a dreaming house of intellect.

 

I was bounded by a grandiose garden.

Interrupting my stillness of solitude,

a stone man accompanied me,

bent with an atlas pryingly weighing his back.

 

He looks at me like I´m an open book,

and whispers in my ear like the sea:

 

Those tears will become prose

over the years. Keep wetting your face,

for these mistakes will no longer be aching

your gaping heart.

 

And I take with me my laments.

I leave this city with my regrets.

And I pack away my voice,

and the chanting, warm air.

And I draw into a firing canvas

the moon, the river, the street

and I pack the picture of a window

and a tower reaching higher I ever did.

 

I pack my tears, and I unpack them.

And I dry my face, and I step into new arms.

There´s satisfaction in this new air,

not erasing my fresh steps in its ground. 

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