quinta-feira, 15 de dezembro de 2016

Blindness







It may rain,
silently.
But you can't see.
Clouds are gone,
the Sun is gentle,
and the wind blows 
like a hand caressing the leaves softly.

But you can't hear, though.

You are either
to busy
for such trivial irrelevant things,
or trapped into a room
wishing
you could be 
the clouds,
the wind,
the leafs.