… i’ve never reached those places with my soul, i just felt as a blind wanderer on lands which may have been once blessed with quietness and spiritual strength. Maybe back then, the people who didn’t belong to that land came and told THEM that there may be something wealthier and then they killed their soul and settled off their spirit.
They lied them as you lie the child about life, they tarnished the paintings of their monasteries and they washed the frescoes of their soul, beautifully mutilated them, petrified and crucified them with their own childishness of the soul. They made them believe in something they knew it was ephemeral, dazzled them and dressed them beautifully with clothes. But there has been left some of them unseen, far away from the tarmac, but close to the sky, whom THESE ONES didn’t find, and even if they had found them, they wouldn’t reached the ears through which they could pour the wax of forgetfulness, they didn’t find neither they’re eyes…this way they didn’t get them back from their road, contrariwise they awakened them the memories and new strengths.
I’ve wandered with a gloomy soul…people don’t look at each other anymore, they don’t recognize themselves in the earth they are walking on, they don’t smile anymore and they don’t cry out loud their happiness in the valleys where aforetime they were building the houses of the soul out of clay and faith. I’ve searched for them in their sleep and in the coldness of the serpent-river and found them in the current of memories full of the foam of forgetfulness.
I’ve looked for them in their frowned glance and found them in the blueness of the pupil raised towards the sky.
I’ve searched them in the palms battered by the new clothes’ burden and found them in the silk purl of the butterflies that led their children to put on their festive and dancing clothes.
I went after their footprint on the road of reconciliation but i’ve discovered them forgotten of their roots. And then i’ve climbed up there, at the home of gods, and i’ve glimpsed the unseen through the walls of the halved houses, smiling towards their long life. They are drinking milk and have no new clothes.