THE POETIC CORNER

This is the place where money
has no value,

where work is always free because it is
loved,

because love is always one with its beloved
expecting nothing in return

loving without measure

always priceless
more than a gem
beyond gold
transcending the fences
of our being

despite the tiredness of our hands,
despite the drying of the
rivers of the
mind

imagination always flies

like birds
outside the matrix
of
the boundaries of
migration

a diaspora of metaphors
clinging to nothing but its
faith to
the ecstasy of
the most common words
the diaphragm of
syllables
the bugle of sentences

press the keys
you can write some more

face the screen
and
bleed.