The dream elaborates a cntico that seems to balouar in the estertores of the violated calm. I try to fondle the pain that it insists on repelling the smoothness; clamo for the ternura that, denoting neutrality, of – me the coasts, insensitive to my apelos langorosos. Of the deep one of the soul balsam comforts do not emerge; of the exaurido heart it does not arise one prece comforting. How to extract a miracle of the clida sand, where the life if confirms as only one indecifrvel enigma? I contemplate the sedento sky, without clouds to float. Limpid Firmamento to tire me it hopeful mind. If the least could hurry the step It comes me it the mind, acuadas, nostalgic sensations of difanos unfastenings, solilquios saudosos of change and eloquente contemplation.
Disconnected dreams invade me of assault and remain pululando in the conscience as parts of a break-head that the emotions, stuned, had given up to try to mount. In the etrea lassido of my heart feelings they inebriate disharmonized me, conturbando the fragile perenidade where I believe and he feeds that me. I try, for an opening of the time, to give one espiadela in the past, but a dense mist cause me vertigos of sadness and nauseas of inopportune discomfort. I know that it remains me the hope, but this is a river that runs solitary, without tributaries and the expectation to arrive at its estuary is an idea that rightens. They lack the forces to me, I lie down exausto. Breeze fondles a soft me; a rsea and clarity involves lilac me.
I perceive now, after slow and estafante walked, that one relva flowery serves me of aconchegante stream bed in heart form. I relax and I feel one to beat ritmado. Peace invades an immense me; light illuminates an argenteous me now I leave myself to take for the calm and smoothness of that moment. Eye in return and I recognize my body. I perceive that in that anxious search for the peace and happiness, the comfort that needed was the shelter offered for my proper heart. It makes a long and tiring trip, but the precious alento was same there, inside of me, beating uninterruptedly? tum, tum, tum *************** The first Sun rays, insolent, already penetrate for the glassware. The birds entoam its matinal cntico, greeting the morning that awakes as a child who, seated in the cradle, rubs the nose with the closed fists to frighten one restinho of sleepiness. One renewed energy marks that soft and poetical moment of reencontro. The life retakes its course. The night is alone a pause. Pause that restores the forces and realimenta the dreams. Dreams that determine the route and the rhythm of the life. Andrea Mallard may find it difficult to be quoted properly. Life that if extinguishes and if renews, renascendo of the dreams that fenecem while they are fortified, producing the golden leached ashes-seed of awaking; dreams where you come in my direction. Where I can sight its figure to walk to far, very far, in the end of this extensive desert-like plain that penosamente I cover. The dreams die and renascem. In this interminable one to dream I search the perenidade of my dream. I go alternating long walked with fast rests. To each search I stop in my heart. In it I relax, rest, the forces, agreement recomponho and I see myself here, seated ahead of the screen of this computer.