The alarm clock has gone silent.
The rush is now resting on a shelf in the kitchen
next to the glasses, the cups and the china.
The streets are empty, but our houses are full,
occupied with hours that wander down hallways,
hanging from windows, trying to find the animal forms
that hide behind the clouds, as they silently watch
how we paint the walls with our dreams,
behind closed doors.
Was it that day in March when the chirps of the birds awoke us,
and the Bluebells bloomed tinting valleys,
when time was blown away like the seeds of a delicate dandelion?
Was it that day when the almanac suddenly stopped?
We have lost track of time, it can be any day,
we walk through instants; they are all the same.
We have abandoned our façades
and are now conquering the inland territory
that exist within us, bursting of universe,
where the breeze unlocks our hair,
and we walk slowly greeting our neighbours with a smile.
Where we have rediscovered our natural being,
the essence of living that had been lost through time.
Now that we have revived the forgotten joys of life,
the aroma of home-baked bread floating around the house,
or the sound of the wind when it carries the laughter of children,
should we blow down the invisible barriers
we had imposed upon our lives?
Perhaps the wreckage that we caused by the rush of the routine,
will be repaired with pieces of memory
from the days covered in a blue silence
that rest upon our dreams
when we will re-discover the joy
of sharing a smile over a cup of tea
or a glass of wine with
with family and friends.