Only the Shadow Moves
Coins are twisting and turning,
showing their sides.
Are we not always both?
A punch in my guts, and
one more coin spins:
pain and numbness.
It is only by jumping into the abyss.
So it is said…
If I shout in my head,
will you hear me?
And if I spin in despair,
what side will you see?
I feel the Lord Buddha,
the Love:
Antidote for every poison.
I feel you, and
wrap my arms around myself,
cuddling
in the coziness of these memories —
your smell,
the softness on your cheeks,
and the smile on your lips.
We hold hands
behind my eyelids.
What have I not understood?
When the lamp
hanging from the ceiling spins,
only my shadow moves.
Now, the thought of that lady
who carries words in her pockets
jumps into this poem:
The small piece of crumpled paper reads,
“And suddenly it is December,
and you are not seventeen anymore.”
A poet does not dream of becoming ﹏﹏
She feels what is real.
When the light is outside,
only the shadow moves.
It is the brightness inside
that makes her grow
in Love.
Imbituba, December 14, 2023
"This one’s for you” 🎵
