Slavic Lady

Imagem gerada pelo MidJourney

 

For those who wish to explore seas never before sailed, on the same ships where Camões cast his poems into the waters, one must feel the warm embrace of the sea while strolling along the fine sands that massage the feet. This ocean welcomes shipwrecks with warm arms and dreams of the futility of distances that bring me a Slavic lady. On its shores, I find myself imagining her, with the endorsement of sensations stolen from yore, with the creation of a thought that shapes her voice. There is here a soul willing to be explored, a time willing to allow, and a poetry eager to set the rhythm. What aspiration is better than not having them? Or letting the magic of an improbable encounter knock at the door? Through magic, I think of this surprise that I read from afar, from lands where I've never set foot, within the vault that separates our days, and with words as warm as the Atlantic.

There is a woman walking in the distance, I do not know where. Perhaps there is a street from which spring is now received in petals. Here it is autumn, a mild and sunny time, of trees persisting in green, without stealing the other colors from rainbows. The monotony of green days stretches until winter calls for warmth, or a plunge into a cold spring that descends from nearby mountains.