Sole present

The solar beams against my eyes collide,
reflected by the surfaces of the things,
and perturb my soul, provoking me colorful ideas,
that appear to have a grand profound sense
for which I manipulate my will,
nourish my hope,
and my life continue.

But in the continuous influx of images,
the preocupation for what will end, or what will never come,
and the postocupation of remembering the gone that never will return,
impede that I concentrate in the ocuppying myself in the present,
and that I penetrate in the sweet profoundness of the fluid.

When I had not thee sole in encountering thee I thought,
with so much intensity that I already forgot what else then I realized.
When I had thee, I solely feared to lose thee,
and now that I had not thee I solely ask myself
why did I not look towards thy eyes nor in their iris sea did I lost myself
in lieu of losing myself in my abstraction of the inexistent future?

And as I was all the time absent,
now sole, now without thee,
I do not know how to be sole,
for all I forgot from when I lived thus,
and with what I now observe sole solely
the unconfortable incognita surges:
How was it that I was not always sole?
For I can not comprehend how thou surpassedst
the challenge of my lacking virtue,
of my lax discipline,
and of my scarce stance.

Mayhap thou achievedst it all simply by indeed being present.
And that somehow I have to learn to reach,
albeit now the beams reflected by the skin of thy face
crash not against my eyes,
neither perturb my soul provoking me the suave idea of thy face.

Thus without thee,
grand and profound sense,
althought thou be not here to nourish my hope,
she survives, and with her I continue wanting and living.

My vital hope, my hope of thee,
of that thou return, and then in the egoistic fantasy I abstract me not…
of that thou be present, and I be present too,
and then I learn thee, and I have to remember thee,
as forever present…
being eternally being,,,

Violinist of Aurum

Frontal row,
delicious luck.

Thy simulated stoicism…
Thou art concentrated,
but inside not so quiet,
as thy body looks,
for in thy soul a storm succeeds.

Sublime music.

Curiosity plenty thou hast,
and multiple times thou turnst.

Thy electric eyes move following the staff,
but stop not at the final of the line,
they continue sliding to stop in an angle
perfect for me to admire them.

What is what thou admirest?
Is it I?
I have not so much luck.
Perhaps it is only the subtle inertia of the movement of the arch.

Or perhaps thou art sublimated
looking how many persons thou hast enchanted…
All that people behind me.

Thou seest me not, and yet
I am lucky because I see thee,
doing magic,
playing that violin,
charming everyone,
specially me.

Gilt violinist,
thy innocent face,
thy smile at the final…

The applause illuminates thee,
so sublimely,
so divinely.

Thou standst up
and kissest it,,,
I wish I were it
for thou kissest it…

Wherefore thou kissest it?
Has something excited thee so much
that has made thee desire
to feel something in thy lips?

The light of the reflector lustres
thy perfect coutenance,
violinist of aurum.