Greeting, Steemans!
This poem was inspired by this phrase that belongs to story: "The hiding place" by the writer: Poldy Bird. I hope it is to your liking and, if you identify with some lines, it would be great.

"So that the things I have loved will not turn into ashes, I have a hiding place where I keep them intact ....
It is a place that is between the dream and the eyelids, in the top part of the tears, at the time of the siesta."

Poldy Bird

Quote

Memories of years without equal.
Experience to jump and enjoy.
Sitting quietly in my memory bank,
I ask you: what happened to those times?
Those, when you jumped out of bed to run to the stop,
Bubbling the aromas of coffee, only breakfast
of a morning full of work bites
in full sun, along with life.

Now, it feels twisted and torn.
The lips curve, the smiles just growl
and the days worn are dyed purple,
exposed to storm weather
already silent, small drops and wind strong .
Live every day in a monotony that torments.
Survive in forms of the mind,
nonsense that others spend with looks.
There must be something more than this.

I remember when it did not matter
give hugs at the feet of the clock
and frolic in the grass.
Now, just sleep,
because tomorrow is another day
and we can all go out and play,
resonating in boxes of fresh laughter.
Bubbling in real life,
where everyone a community
thanking for life.

---

---

---

Aroma de café

Memorias de años sin iguales. Experiencia para saltar y disfrutar. Sentada tranquilamente en mi banco de recuerdos, te pregunto: qué pasó con esos tiempos? Esos, cuando saltabas de la cama para correr a la parada, burbujeando los aromas del café, único desayuno de una mañana llena de bocados de trabajo a pleno sol, junto con la vida

---

Ahora, se siente retorcido y desgarrado.
Los labios se curvan, las sonrisas sólo gruñen
y se tiñen de morado los días gastados,
expuestos al temporal de una tormenta,
ya silente, gotas menudas y viento fuerte.
Viviendo en una monotonía que atormenta.
Sobreviviendo en caminos de la mente,
sinsentidos que otros transitan con miradas.
Tiene que haber algo más que esto.

---

Recuerdo cuando no importaba
abrazar los pies al reloj y tumbarlo sobre la grama.
Ahora, sólo toca dormir,
porque mañana es otro día
y todos podemos salir a jugar,
resonando en cajas de risa fresca
y vida de verdad,
donde todos, seamos uno.

---

---

Original poem by Zeleira Cordero (@zeleiracordero) Reedición of the July 13, 2018

The images are from Pixabay Creative Commons:

1/2/3/4/
5/6/7/8/
9

For accompanying me, reading me and always being there ...Simply THANKS.