Time goes by, it flies and leaves marks on your face
and petals on your pillow. One day you ask yourself:
how to use time?
And then you search.
I looked in the lives of others
for the scent of dreams that were not mine,
and whilst standing before my own shadow
I discovered that in the snow too grow
flowers as white
In the marigold hemisphere that gives us drink,
time is a mystery, a gift and an excuse to
go round, sometimes in a spiral,
the path of petals,
that leads to Possibility.
On the shore of that sea where life flows,
you and I have nourished a secret garden
where pruning errors grow
and those flowers of time that we planted
we can always go back to that yellow forest
where some trees recall
stories of fractal lives that repeat
the same in different gardens
and they give, with their gaze,
the beauty of a trade
that smells of iris, rose or eucalyptus,
it depends.
Thanks to Trevor Noland for the translation.
Photos taken with an iPhone6.