It’s the time of tapping fingers,

blowing over clouds like God’s whispers,

Is it true that the opposite of a song is silence?

Quisiera tenerte para siempre, mi amor

all could I see, you leaned in forever more

perhaps to catch attention in the crowded

room, perhaps to escape breathing from

the same doom, who were you actually?

then there’s impalpable cloud: rocking,

touching leaf in the rainforest, you became

a blow over my red ascending.

I took your silence as a coming sign,

I smooth my hair with my faltering hand,

A feeble smile but frozen one, sad, happy

foolish, wise, pero las llamas en tus ojos

said nothing of but only vouched,

so I stepped out from the evening fall.

What did I want? What was our song?

We’re attraction of dull fire, perhaps futile

attempt of rising the strained music,

losing youth in the threads of leaves,

Once more I took liberty in the dusk.

So did the clasping, clapping hands

stopped, as the way tune dropped low

on the top of rooftop, I caught your words

breathing in the flicker of light stop, at last

The door was closed.

You parted as the leaves from waves,

Silence stretched out in yellow flames.

— 28th January, 2025.

Do you think, it should have another part to complete the story?