absurd

the absurd lies on the surface of our skins
like a rose tattoo that shirks and shrinks with time

crumpled lines and fading dyes and a story that refuses to die
you ask me if somehow i have obtained some meaning to my life

something that i cannot say i soon tell you
it is more of a growing thing that does not really show itself

unless you wait till the right season comes
the wind gives it a light feeling and the sun warms it a bit

surprise comes like a bud and bliss comes like a red flower
so dainty and beautiful but you know it well: a very short moment

like a breath a sigh like a puff of whisper to the ear
it is a show of life, we gather dry leaves and then burn them

we clean the ashes and we wait for the grass to grow back
we anticipate the coming of hope, the rain, the clouds, the sun

sometimes it is all dark, we are blind, and then things, all things
begin to be real, it is all the same, too much light is also blinding.