|Color pencil illustration by Noris Capin|
I tremble at the fine line between the sky and the earth
and, somehow, its rather sad to observe the distance
between the sky and the earth without a tear.
All that passes through the eye of a needle comes
back to the original state of pure imagination, and stays
floating in the mind like a white feather of a bird.
How many friends have gone to heaven? How many
belongings have ended up thrown in a plastic container
for others to succeed?
How many time we had welcomed happiness and
instead a full load of sadness have planted its germ
in the soil of my soul?