It s cold here

It’s cold here...
what’s the reason,
if every wall is pure white and worthy
of being top of wonders of the world,
and their earthlyness seems perfect,
not a prison?
well, Lord, perhaps,
for the celestial birds only
it’s cold here...
the spring is boundless, it hides,
since the embrace of walls is tight
too much, too wrong,
I’m grown up and out of
kids’ clothes,
the idyll is as small as long
it’s cold here...
but every room is bright, divine,
at night, the fireplace lights up,
that’s right, yes, but…
I want a bit of warmth
from those places where
the walls were rather missing,
in my heart,
I hear
my soul’s voice,
that in despair sighs,
“Rejoice… besides,
it’s truly fabulous, my dear…”
there’s no one with whom it could
drink at the same pace such a silence,
yet sharing its sorrow and joy,
its eyes are wet…
perhaps,
we both are only dreaming that
it really is cold here...

September 06, 2011