Where dreams are dismissed

By espacioreal | elespacioreal | 6 May 2022

Nothing for today. They do not force me to explain the miracle or succumb about the chrysanthemums. They do not buy me with that price the absurd intention of giving and removing. I do not want to narrate the passing of a missile, or that of a star; nor have to count the waters at the side of time where dreams are dismissed. I do not want to name the kiss that will go out on the earth, beauty like the petals of the rose after the rain embodied in the mud.
No deal. Nor will there be. Even if I have to leave. I will not sell to the news of miracles turning off, under the cross hell of that lead storm. I will think of my friend of man and my Andalusian patio. The geraniums uploaded to my conscience; I will let them speak, by force of sun, water and night, about the secret miracle, unknown, where a plate of lentils renews me incessantly. I will speak not life or death, but of that woman who gave me light thinking that no one would take it away.
Tomorrow, then, then, under the helmet and against the rifle, I will undertake my journey to war.

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