I am always opening the locket
\nin myself.
\nIt was not always so.
\nI don\u2019t know where or when
\nI finished one life
\nand started another.
\nAn artist will reach the borders
\nof his picture,
\nand that\u2019s where it ends.
\nThe roads fall off the edge.
\nThe people sit still.
\nThe flowers never go away,
\nand table and chairs remain,
\nempty or full,
\nbut always the same.
\nBut I never know where I am.
\nWhy one day I cry,
\nand the next,
\nsmile as if grief were a stranger.<\/p>\n
And the poems just fall to the floor.
\nSome never finished,
\nlike leaves,
\ntorn and full of color.
\nNothing complete,
\nas if completeness will never
\nbelong to me.
\nAs if life goes on,
\nnever meant to be finished,
\nbut one moment,
\ndisappears, and never returns.
\nAs if I never existed,
\nas if all my beloved never existed.
\nIs there a secret inside me?
\nIs that what I go to?
\nThe ultimate riddle,
\nenigma,
\nand then,
\nas if my life never were,
\nit ends,
\nlocked inside without a key?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I am always opening the locket in myself. It was not always so. I don\u2019t know where or when I finished one life and started…<\/p>\n