When eagles cry distressed, you paint the sky in hues of passion, and let it pour in our hearts consuming desire.
When fires burn, you paint the sky in hues of sorrow, and let it rain to cool our tormented thoughts.
When we lie dormant, you link the two distant worlds with threads of light, and make them burst into our souls, scattering them in fragments of iridescent questioning.
What is around us that talks in whispers and lures us to no-places where we don't need our senses to meet and know each other?
What is it that ties us and draws one filament after another until we're caught in spider webs of resignation?
What kind of painter are you who touches the unseen canvases and sows winds where nothingness once birthed only peace and quiet?
How can we walk through the tempests you create?
Why don't you let us live nowhere where we need nothing to be who we are?
Do you love battles?
Do you love seeing us struggle, lost like birds carried by gusts?
Do you love the torment of separation?
I'll touch the wind to feel you and hear you give the answers. How would you paint the sky then? I'm sure like no other for that's when your heart will pour down love to dry all our tears!
You, paint the sky! I’ll touch the wind, and we’ll meet in the crown of the trees, which guard the dreaming forests!
© Copyright 2014 Irina Serban. All rights reserved