emmajane16.1775
Observe the face of reality, without ever being noticed by it.
To be present invisibly in each of your acts.
Enthusiastically inhabit its crowds.
..of monumental daily revelries ..
..with the anonymous mask of silence.
Exercise the Art of discretion.
..which consists of attending the disguise of appearances ..
... dressing with the skin of the superficial.
To come to an understanding of the world around me ..
of the why of what happened to the landscape of existence.
Burned too often with selfishness.
..with that classic bonfire of poverty of vanities, weak embers
..about which the passing of time ..
... it will drop its inexorable slab of oblivion.
By weight of absolute certainty.
Play sometime, to teach my name to the real thing.
... like a whispered distant music that "baffles" you with harmony ...
..but without getting caught by anyone.
I do not want him to touch me, or to assure that I belong to him.
..not let me guess even from a glance ..
..or that I am hers in decadent possessive.
I love to lose myself in the midst of people, to the smell of human tides ... ... to write about them while the crowd drowns me.
Continue with this homage chronicler walk ..
..the passage of her footprints.
Admire how it is that I do not know so extraordinary.
..that they say is to be normal, conventional ..
.. worrying about the routines of those who have been awarded ..
..with the soul in privilege of having her luminous health ..
..in the form of a sheltered family, a job of the hours ..
..a home of refuge.
Given my special condition of the heart ..
that non-chosen naming of birth ..
... he gave me the testimony of life deed.
From a unique point of view ..
..the one from whom can unlace from his hands ..
..at any moment of freedom.
That she is at the same time hurt and gift for wisdom of pain.
..without any merit of joy
..that knowledge that gives the scarred promise of distance.
I like being with you, without you knowing that I am.
..because I will be forever conjugated ..
..of the Being remaining loved.
Irene poem
tonarino www.flickr.com/groups/14689051@N23/, tonarino (167, 214, 29) - Moderado
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/tonarino/168/215/29
Observe the face of reality, without ever being noticed by it.
To be present invisibly in each of your acts.
Enthusiastically inhabit its crowds.
..of monumental daily revelries ..
..with the anonymous mask of silence.
Exercise the Art of discretion.
..which consists of attending the disguise of appearances ..
... dressing with the skin of the superficial.
To come to an understanding of the world around me ..
of the why of what happened to the landscape of existence.
Burned too often with selfishness.
..with that classic bonfire of poverty of vanities, weak embers
..about which the passing of time ..
... it will drop its inexorable slab of oblivion.
By weight of absolute certainty.
Play sometime, to teach my name to the real thing.
... like a whispered distant music that "baffles" you with harmony ...
..but without getting caught by anyone.
I do not want him to touch me, or to assure that I belong to him.
..not let me guess even from a glance ..
..or that I am hers in decadent possessive.
I love to lose myself in the midst of people, to the smell of human tides ... ... to write about them while the crowd drowns me.
Continue with this homage chronicler walk ..
..the passage of her footprints.
Admire how it is that I do not know so extraordinary.
..that they say is to be normal, conventional ..
.. worrying about the routines of those who have been awarded ..
..with the soul in privilege of having her luminous health ..
..in the form of a sheltered family, a job of the hours ..
..a home of refuge.
Given my special condition of the heart ..
that non-chosen naming of birth ..
... he gave me the testimony of life deed.
From a unique point of view ..
..the one from whom can unlace from his hands ..
..at any moment of freedom.
That she is at the same time hurt and gift for wisdom of pain.
..without any merit of joy
..that knowledge that gives the scarred promise of distance.
I like being with you, without you knowing that I am.
..because I will be forever conjugated ..
..of the Being remaining loved.
Irene poem
tonarino www.flickr.com/groups/14689051@N23/, tonarino (167, 214, 29) - Moderado
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/tonarino/168/215/29