16 diciembre 2018


You will have time to stop,
to observe and try the impossible.
There are her moldy cracks,
her gnawed woods.
Lie down!
Crawl on the floor,
there you can feel the humidity
that pierce her healed walls,
but you will never hear their voices,
are buried in the backyards,
in the land of lime and paint,
in the echoes of the groans of surrender,
in the rubble of oblivion,
on the old tiles of the red roofs.
You will only find her stony silence,
a silence turned into oblivion,
in angel that passed a thousand times,
in ghost who came to drink coffee,
in an eternal loop that goes in and out.
Then you can leave and remember what it was.
Image source: Photograph taken with an Acer Liquid Z630

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