By Eddy Montilla.
If you were not you and I were not I,
if you were not my peace and I were not your confusion,
I would tell you what I feel, and perhaps, what I think…
I’d tell you that my body shudders with your presence
and my voice turns into silence.
I’d tell you that reality controls my desire
even though what I desire is other reality,
a piece of reality where we can walk along the seashore,
where we can pick daisies up every April 13
or just sit down on the grass of a prairie,
talking about everything, talking about nothing
in a world made of illusions where all is true,
where rivers sing, the wind walks
and butterflies repeat your name without cease.
If you were not real and I were not so imaginary,
if I were not a shadow life that dies with the dawn
and you the dawn that comes to life,
perhaps I would not have to live with this bitter past at my side,
with a glass of wine every April 13.
I could forget the nights sitting on the bench,
your shoulder and my shoulder taking shelter from the cold.
When you are present, I want to see you,
when you are absent, I want to see you more.
On every April 13,
I realize what you mean for me…
A rainbow of love, a linked heart that cries for freedom,
a fresh smile, tender eyes,
a lake, still and serene in the sunlight,
half of my life even though you have already my other side.
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