A golden tear escapes my heart,

And memories of childhood overflow my mind,

As the colors of violets appear in the sky.

A mellifluous melody imbued in my head

And it sings of the sounds of the glorious earth:

 

Nothing makes my heart more at home,

Than the aggressive sea and its dancing foam.

Its salt and the bronze sand

Brushing against my mortal hands

That are privileged just to touch

A million years of life in the sand and in a conch.

 

A more solid wave appears

And I see a mountain perform from the mist.

Its misunderstood icy strokes,

To be rising so high in the clear sky

That only birds have witnessed with their eyes,

And only they have been wise enough to stop,

And to rest at the glorious mountain top

To acknowledge the periodical appearance of the moon

And hear its secrets in full bloom.

Nothing makes me feel more secure

Than the cold breeze and its whisper, clear and pure

Caressing softly in my ear

Of life’s mysteries, so gentle and sheer.

 

And it is truly incomprehensible

And marvelous and incredible

How our anatomy was built

With the right shapes and exact gears

To enable us to discover

The magical wonder that are colors.

Shades of blue and green in the streams

And the sunset reds, oranges, and pinks.

The deep violets of the flowers

Giving out its passionate powers

And the pure and silky white

Inspiring love and giving out light.

 

But the greys and blacks in between

Hiding from a negative connotation

Can also shine if we see

How charming they can be in occasions:

 A tall dark woman by a pole

Smoking freshly and standing tall

Dressed in velvet besides a black car

Kills the flame of her favorite cigar.

Or an owl hooting in the darkest valleys

Warning strangers of the grey enemies

Screeching when a black threatening figure

Pulls a trigger but takes its picture.

 

Nature finds a way

To hold us like a child

And rock us back and forth

In the bright fields and in between shadows

And nevertheless I feel content

In every corner of this blue home

Because our planet is the poem

That was by many already stolen.