On the balcony of apartment 323,
A young woman watches the rain falling
Through her grandfather’s binoculars,
Where it brings memories
Of times gone by.
Between her breath and the crying
And the tightness in her chest,
She feels her daughter wandering
Around her, saying,
“What happened to your eyes, Mommy?
They’re red like cherries.”
“It’s tears, my daughter; it’s what longing does.
They become a kind of river that flows outward.
It’s the longing for love and the time that has passed.
One day, you will see objects, scents, places
Like a memory of a great love.
And a great love you can choose
How much it will remain in you.
This binocular was your grandfather’s.
If there’s one thing that makes a difference in this world,
It’s a simple word, I would say:
Presence.
“Mommy, is love forever?”
“Always, my daughter?”
Love is something we’re still trying to decipher.
It lives in us as long as we’re alive,
And, daughter, being alive
Is often more about
The internal state than the physical.
Being alive internally is what gives us the drive
To be in this world.
It’s the lever of life.
The greatest impulse is not one that
Can be measured by distance,
But rather, despite everything,
Creates immense movement in our lives,
Especially in those who seem to have stopped
In a time we no longer know
How to define.
Rain doesn’t fall on Earth when we ask for it.
Nature doesn’t stop its process for us.
Time, space, the sea continues its course.
What we come closest to controlling
It is where we direct the energy of our lives,
Which is vital for us and our surroundings.
We matter; we are life and nature.
Love is a kind of plant that grows in silence
And carries the wait.
It doesn’t ask for permission to bloom,
And when you least expect it, it exhales and fills
Our hearts.
The rain, a slow dance of a time that no longer exists,
Cleanses my soul, drags away memories and pains.
I am an ocean of emotions, a lost island in time,
Adrift in a sea of uncertainties and mysteries.
The binoculars, a portal to the past, reveal the fragility of existence, the
finiteness of everything.
Life, a thin breath, a thread of light in the darkness,
and I, just a particle in this vast universe.
For poetry and more, visit Mecella.