ON THE BENCH

I’m looking at you deeply
into your dilated pupils
because of the ‘terrible fear of the other.
Your immobility
becomes more static
your silence becomes quieter.
Your mind, pale moon,
is a shadow of madness:
ghosts…fears… nothing.
The looks and the accusatory voices
fall like rain,
they precipitate on the bottom of your soul.
I’m clutching your cold hand.
I’m looking into your eyes,
the timeless mirror of your soul.
I’m looking at you.
I lose myself in your realm
of anxious coldness.
I’m looking at you.
I squeeze you in a warm embrace
frozen by your ghosts.
Then silence becomes less silent,
loneliness becomes less desert.
It is a fleeting moment.
Breathing gets rid of anxiety,
you smile starlight.
On a bench one evening
painted of autumn
a whisper of eyes.

You’re hugging me

On a bench one evening
painted of autumn
a crack
in the ‘invincible darkness of’ soul.
Lionte Valeria 

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