Monday, August 18, 2008


One who cultivates flowers in the sky
And one who pours affection on a dream
Are both destined to fade away and die
Without seeing things beyond what they may seem.
Finding horns on the head of any rabbit
Considering a rope to be a snake
They wander through the land where they inhabit
Unfit to tell the real from the fake.
To constantly remain behind a shade
Eventually may lead to desperation
But in spite of the judgement I have made
I’m falling for my own imagination.
Loving a mere creation of the mind
One simply keeps on living like a blind.

Metre: Italian hendecasyllable

© copyrighted in the National Library,Brazil

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