Nadil’ama

You call me kind but, to be honest, the truth is

i find myself hopeless every single time

i get lost in your eyes and I find it a bliss,

...when i can't call it a crime.

I remember you, yes, I remember you clearly,

Back from the days when I thought of you as shy,

A mistake for which I paid dearly

While counting stars till my lips ran dry.

Now that you've blossomed, witness of twenty one autumns, 

I don't dare to question your beauty nor do I try

To defy the angels that from the height of their columns

Prey upon chance you'll gaze back at them as they die.

Haze of a strong, sweet and yet bitter scent rises slowly from your lips,

And I sense coffee, strong, hot and brown; much like your eyes,

In which, at night, whirlpools of stars are pulled under a full eclipse;

During the day, your eyelids keep trapped inside a thousand skies.

I asked the wind if poems written by time on your neck

Are still true, still full of wonders and gests of the new;

If your skin is still soft as the first snow falling on deck,

It laughed, the wind, without telling me if i'm worthy the view.

From your pace I could make the time's new golden gears,

For the whole world to forget the meaning of haste,

And for a while, breath it in, the dust of those years

They lost while chasing their lives, forgetting the taste.