Let’s call it the platform of love I entered life from.
(Not quite poetic, you know?)
Let’s call it the tarmac for the soul,
a kind of white and yellowish context for the experience of life.
(What kind of poetry do you see in these substantial associations?)
Since then, I’ve always searched the perfect color of the love I knew,
its fragrance and its look and all its beauty.
(Is poetry about matter?)
Whenever recognized, a kind of pearly tiny roses just sprang into existence
through eyes going to shine into the world around.
(I see, you’re talking about lenses!)
But this day needed tuberose, the white and pearly little flowers,
to impregnate the white and yellow painted walls with their perfume powers.
(Technology and science went so far!
I didn’t know that roses could blossom in the tubes of a freight car! )
July, 28th, 2017 – The diary of renovation: Parentheses