If we could, who knows, Stop Time. Go back in Time. Would we do everything the same or differently? In Porto, by the Douro River, I felt this desire and scribbled this Poem.
Poem to Time.
I No one forgets time. The one that life gave us. Of scheduled or missed meetings. Of life certain in its promise. Of small promises engraved forever. Of the glances that pierced the soul.
II Where does time come from. That stretches as long as a river. That daydreams hearts and souls. That disturbs the alchemist in his mixtures. That marvels at the meaning of life. That beats from the inside out in dreamers.
III One day time ends. Perhaps in the cycle of life that comes and goes. In the gathering and awakening of birds that repeat. In the endless gaze of lovers. In the heart of those who loved more than they should have. In the forgotten eternity where saudades meet.