blow up

I painted you in the pastel of my heart

when thousands of colors were not enough

to caress warmly so many vagueness forms

in the steps of time and when all other painters

were breathing just black and white.

I reread you in noblest book rigged on a shelf

without the dust of the soul. I've muttered

the warmest song out of unnumbered sounds

thrown tenaciously toward the many ears

but some haven't afforded to listen to it.

I chose you be my director who turns drama

in a romantic story with a happy ending

knowing that the end actually embraces

a new beginning formulated to blow up

in another one verbalized in our mind.