TEAR DROP

Every drop that falls on the roof,
I feel it
as if they were my tears,
tiny drops of water
that seem acidic
on my parchment skin.
The cold and thundering noise on the metal,
the air full of breeze
the taste of water on the tongue,
life in the woods, dormant for a few moments,
my composition of thoughts
among the crystallized grass.
A monarch with soaked wings,
won't stop trying
to fly
until a kiss of the sun
will not return it

Let me sit down
at the door of your gaze,
you want me to pass slowly
the threshold and you talk to yourself
with my silence,
catch my breath
in the canceled space.
Respect my privacy,
my prudence,
my dignity.
You are a lot to me
more than you think
and you give me peace
of those who have no defenses
of those who do not want
to defend nothing in oneself.
So I call you friend,
when we stand there,
silently listening
the rain dripping
on the leaves.
And I feel that with you
few things are enough
to be happy
until
my smile finds again
the eyes I had
when I was a child.
With you I can
caress the truth naked
on my knees
without rushing to define it.
With you they rest
the wounded words
and, trembling,
we take over
to open the pass.