REFLECTIONS © 2011

On this special day,

I am sad, unable to weave

Even a poem in my condition,

Where silence weighs more than the ideal.

The words escape me, disordered,

And the heart, in its melancholy,

Finds no verse or harmony,

Only echoes of faded memories.

But perhaps, in this absence of expression,

There is also a hidden beauty,

For not always does the soul reveal itself in writing,

And feeling lives, even without translation.

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