A land of trivial stories

From “The colour of wheatfields: Phase II (untitled)”

Through a dirty window

I see a blurred city

Each light and shadow

Tells a trivial story.

And I, wearing a brown sweater

Stains in my shower

From when I washed the dirt of my old life,

I contemplate outside that window

Almost ignoring the reflection

Of my silhouette

That I thought was shaped like sorrow.

But I know who I am

I can see the city lights on my forehead

My eyes like two stars in the sky

My cheeks shifting from green to red

I am colored according to the streets

I am colored according to all those stories

But little did I know they were mine.

And these colors remind me

Of trivial things I gave too much importance

And trivial things I should make more important

Like my brown sweater or my green cheek

Not the dirt stains or the dirty street

Not the disease and the fear

But those moments of peace and cheer

Moments when I breathe

Without expecting to stop breathing

Moments when I fall asleep

Telling myself that I’ll wake up

That I am fine

And I have woken up.

My lips touched the mud of this beautiful world

On the bed of the river

That was inside my mind

Where grass is tall and trees hard to find

Where you gaze at things that don’t matter and forget about what makes you blind

Blind because you’re not scared and dare

With love in your heart,

With faith,

To close your eyes.

One thought on “A land of trivial stories

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