Source: own
Cover me with your mantle,
the one of silence, the one of waiting,
the one with the lie,
that one, ragged by the dust of oblivion.
I will stand still,
opening the pores to sweat,
and spit out the memories of your dead,
their forgotten bones in the moldy corners.
I will try to get up,
a hand resting on the soul,
and the knees in living flesh
after going through your guilty silences.
I will look at you standing,
staggering,
looking for the right balance between soul and heart,
leaning on the staff of resignation,
seeking in your eyes the tears of forgiveness.
I will turn around, turning my back on you,
Stay! Stay!
but I'll take what couldn't have been,
and what it wasn't,
the wreckage of the shipwreck in the abyss,
the rudder aimlessly
and the letters that no one will read anymore.
Only the wake of your imprisoned memories will remain,
the photographs of smiles and sunset,
the broken and lying mirrors,
your rain through the glass
and coffee afternoons with your ghost.
