Surreal - A FRAGMENT DEDICATED TO MY FATHER.

Surreal.

A deserted field, some small light filtered through the clouds, only traveling polyphonies in the gray panorama.
A thought walked, a smile drowned on the shore of the lake that without rain grew, until it overflowed the shore.
The dock could not support his weight, the water was dragging him in such a way that his screams would be silenced at the same time.

The dry trees exuded coldness, a dark feeling came to rule.
His memories oxygenating in an environment of need; imagined for his loneliness.
It was a constant starless dusk, he only heard his voice and the exhausting sound of the wind blowing against his body.

There is nothing wonderful in that place, a sin greets you from the glass that separates your reality.
The border that appeared to be implacable is being rooted by the lake, it grows more and more.
There are no tears of rain but he grows by his dark fragility; reminding him that death is breathing its oxygen and that pity no longer exists in his mind.

Suddenly a leaf falls near his feet, on which it was written in large and small letters: "Nobody shares, they just want to leave you, don't believe in anyone because nobody believes in you"

Outlining a fearful gesture, he put it in his pocket. It was very cold, his hands froze but his mind caused a fire since a half sentence ran for no reason; " There is no longer anyone, there is no longer a why, to die for being as before, when before was and now is; parodox of time and love within longing.

His eyes locked watching the bridge come under its own weight. The sin of the crystal had disappeared, there was no one, only the gray field and the traveling polyphony because he was already dead in life. With the silence betraying him, without a heartbeat and that vital fluid, consuming hugs during his stay, daydreaming of that unexpected happiness, reliving
your arrival at that place.

He ; my father came downhill and without brakes when the abyss welcomed him, he fell to that gray field where no one ever found him. Absorbed in fantasy and bound by memories of what one day would be until the day that metastasis put him to sleep for life.

Author: Astrid Herrera
Photo: Astrid Herrera

P.S. tattoo in honor of my deceased father, fragment of my poetry.

VENEZUELA
18/08/2020