if

if life is
what I think it is;
if joy does not
always mean comfort;
i do not mind
sleeping for once;
under the sky;
just to awake
to the bright light;
just to see
who had gathered
onto the same beach but me;
I do not mind
mingling with people others may blame;
I do not care if they voted the same.

What I do care is to open my eyes
and exercise the difficult act
of opening one's soul
sometimes my own
as a present to you,
sometimes delicately yours
as a present to me;
and sometimes, more and more rarely
the soul of strangers
if he decides that it needs to bloom
or to burn or to cry in front of our eyes.

Am I to judge or am I to help?
Am I to hurt for an unknown
but possible friend,
and most important of all
will I be given the chance
to understand
you?
only if you let me to.

so would you care
to share with me
the open air for a day
a warm cofee
on a cold day
on a street;
will you dare
to be yourself
to be humble and ready to taste
how it is like to be different
my friend?