The other corner of the garden

[onacarom]

The other corner of the garden

I would like to sing
as if it were not me,
empty of past tears
prisoner of storms and droughts,
nothing more than this

I would like to sing
with no dust of the roads
in my voice
vibrating like a bell
announcing the morning


making fly
birds and doves
all around my tower
full of power
to awake the souls asleep,
nothing more than this

to sing in green an flowers
in water and moments
painting a sun
of orange juice
while the rain showers my skin
at the other corner
of the garden