Old poems: part 1 in the color of dust

The dust of memories

Come sit here on this bench with me
The wind of time has erased all memories
Of people who have been sitting on it
Tell me your story and I will write it
On the leaves of this tree, with the ink
Of my voice and your tears and it shall dry.
Till autumn all sins will have been forgotten
Most leaves will have taken their good bye
From the tree. Some will have become dust on the
Very same bench where we sit here today
our souls feeding the flame of a summer day.
If fire and wind are not enough let the rain come
And wash away all traces of dust till it’s gone.

The red kisses' effect

Red kisses can ripen the apples
Rise the sun on a sky of colors
Make the sea roar heard
Till the top of the mountains.

As for me, I fell forever in love
With an orange tree that we once found
In the church’s garden in front of which
At least in my memory kids will always play ball.