"Mom"
My poem just wants
To say somenthig
About love to you.
To say somenthig
About love to you.
First, undestand
My simple heart
That beats so fast
My simple heart
That beats so fast
For everything that
Comes from your
Soul, and makes me
Comes from your
Soul, and makes me
Feel very very
Happy happy.
Second, I left
Happy happy.
Second, I left
My fears aside.
Mainly, the fear of
Being a beloved son,
Mainly, the fear of
Being a beloved son,
Because your love
Is like an Ode
Written by Horace.
Is like an Ode
Written by Horace.
It is perfect!
It is eternal like
A Petrarch's sonnet.
It is eternal like
A Petrarch's sonnet.
Mom, dear Mom,
I know that you
Do not read it
I know that you
Do not read it
In English, I
Know this, I Know.
But, I know also
Know this, I Know.
But, I know also
That the language
Of love is just one:
This one that does
Of love is just one:
This one that does
Not need translation!
Forgive me, Mom,
For my frail verses.
Forgive me, Mom,
For my frail verses.
Here, I am, I am
Not interested in
Another aesthetic.
Not interested in
Another aesthetic.
Poetry is naked.
Fully naked. I do
Not need any rules
Fully naked. I do
Not need any rules
To say to you
That I love you.
Look at it, look at
That I love you.
Look at it, look at
It: poetic rule
Does not serve!
Mom, my poem
Does not serve!
Mom, my poem
Will photograph
You! Smile! Is my
Love! Just Smile!
You! Smile! Is my
Love! Just Smile!
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