Poem to Roraima.
Even that tepuy inhabits the mind, her memory owns a part of the throbbing, since from that love of 17 springs she is a lantern that lights the fire of memory, where the lips let hear a concert and the eyes spoke of heaven , she sitting there, immense was the flower, that flower: with jet hair, her lips heart, gaze is the wind, the face an angel, body of honey and aura like the sun
I their planet.
That day in front of the sea, who became opaque before the presence of the goddess, the eyes of this madman, in love, danced to the sound of his movements, a jealous wave broke over us, separating the bodies that were one, just for an instant because then Muhammad went to the mountain, and she to Muhammad making everything stop and that moment will be made a written history forever.
At your 17 springs you asked to dance by my side as one, to be the protagonists of that story and to go through life hand in hand, playing to live. You were a girl and the indescribable feelings did not let the madman cut the button, he wanted that flower to open to show its petals at its best and that he could watch the sun rise, free in the wind, what a fool the madman was when he let that woman free flower or is that true love?
She, now lady, can be seen from afar, imposing as always, her bearing can be seen from the farthest distance, that mountain called Roraima is beautiful, she walks on water, and her lanterns are brighter today than before, every time the encounter arrives the world stops and there are only those two beings, but life calls them and they cannot fight for justice, their commitments call them to live their day, that lives in time where that law does not exist is their world, of them, the past that is present in their meeting. They greet each other and the eyes tell this story that they are silent, Fede and Roraima.
Villa de Cura, February 14, 1995, Poem to Roraima. I still remember it clearly, this poem that I wrote in those days, from my first collection of poems, which was unpublished and until today I share it with you, details are missing that were lost in that notebook where I recorded those letters, but it is 90% saved in my mind. There I had about 120 poems which I burned when I let that flower go.
Lent: Leica 1: 2.8-3.7 / 7.4-88.8.
Location: Villa de Cura.
Original photographs of willsaldeno, I do not edit the photos, because I like to put only what I achieve with the camera and not something improved with an editor.
