BLOSSOMED VOICES

A flower’s voice
Is given by its scent.

The sweet, inebriating blossoms
Are the echoes of the flowers’ voices,
They are the beloved
But unheard sounds
That fulfill our lungs and senses
When we least expect it to happen.

We can be calmly walking
Along a solitary path
And suddenly feel
How we are mysteriously
Invaded
By the zephyr coming from
The heavenly gardens.

It is said that
Flowers are speechless,
But I can tell you
They are not.

Their unique voice is
The white sound of silence,
A sound fulfilled with
Blossoms
That only noble ears can hear.

The voices of the flowers
Are restless travelers
That run
On the mane of the wind
From one soul to another,

Aiming for unknown
Distant and deserted places
Whose destinies
Need to be enriched.

Like restless souls
Of endless colors,
They fly around the world
In search for
The gates of our souls.
Silent phantoms,
They spin in swirls
Of unimaginable beauty
Hiding under the mystery
Of the green summer leaves,
Or behind veils of blue clouds,
They pass us by
Without our being able
To see their shape,
Touch them or
Embrace their delicate wings.