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An old woman sits by a
window, the blue glow of the evening illuminates and
caresses, the light silver silks that the
years bring forth, she is tired, lonely,
she regrets her laziness.
her hands have crossed on her old
empty heart, run away into her
memories, always so well hidden, but
now that he can reach her
lips, she lets the gold flow from her eyes
full of fever, the nest is empty, but
she is still there.She thinks of that wild and
buzzing
youth who made
her life a frantic, noisy, joyful race
, whose soul so
vibrant, dilated her whole being with a starry
smile.The light has dimmed and the
lights vary, but why does it feel
, a little heavier, this painful
silence of the dry spring, names
it no longer hears, carried away by the wind?
The lamp has gone out, the oasis is resting, the
old lady is dying, like a
rose scent, floating in the air, strengthened by the
years, this sweet scent of love, from an old
mother's heart.
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