Fiction, poetry

The boy and the flower.

‘Why? Ohh why? Must one live in these bodies?’ Asked the little soul,

Bound to life itself, to feet that cannot fly and minds that do not grasp. 

‘Ahhh that is the secret…’ replied the tiny white flowers in the sun,

 ‘That is the core of the matter itself, that is the real secret of the secret, 

Only humans, my little darling, can dare to create their dreams, 

The hands and feet that are bound, it is them that can also fly,

Only you, humans, can be part of constructing this magical fate,  

Yes, you are not angels, yes you are not birds, and yes you are not all spirit, 

But my dear, that is your blessing, not your curse, that’s your haven.

Only you can feel the wind, can taste the bitterness and sweetness of fruit,

And only you can create the beautiful melodies in the word of matter, 

Only you can turn the rocks or brushes of paint into diamonds for the soul,

And only you can kiss with that endless love making time fade away…’

The little soul smiled. ‘ So we are to create and to love? ‘

The flowers laughed and claimed: ‘ No, my little darling… you are to live, 

But to live is to create and love, it is to dream and materialise those havens, 

It is to long for a world that only you can see. That’s living my dearest. 

Yes, it is to suffer, yearn, laugh and cry, but that is nothing at all,

Through your little bodies, darling, you get to immortal. 

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