The poems of the heart are strange. So easy and yet so complicated. Unspoken arabesque in a spring day when you cannot pronounce the words because you don't know them (the language). But you can see the letters, arranged in a fascinating meaning. There is a complex language burning inside, twisting and beating, making the heart jump and flutter like a prisoner bird singing a song of freedom. The physical limits are passed, the flood coming is not damaging , just giving the sensation of enlarging the heart.
The soul expands, interconnects better to the world. The senses are sharpened but the language remains unspoken, only felt deep inside, drawing smiles and rainbows on the steamy windows of the heart.
Childish and adult, innocence and sin walking together like an unbelievable face of a clown, sadness and happiness, white and black, the contrast in between the subjective flowers of self and the cruel objective ice of the outside world (reality).
The poems of the heart are strange. So easy and yet so complicated. You may pretend you don't see the thorns or you don't feel the perfume in the air. The unspoken words may stay in there forever guarding the treasure or disappear one day with the wind of change.
I feel that this time mine will stay and maybe one day I will be able to say them. The heart will not flutter anymore, find peace and the soul will sail away with yours. For as long as we will live.