Walking some days
the light of the plains shines.
A fresh wind blows over the green wheat
and the greyhounds come running to me,
riding on my bike
A lonely and happy boy.
There are days when time flies back.
My bike does not move forward any more
and the greyhounds look at me in the distance.
They don´t get close to see me coming back.
I am not alone any more
and the mountains hide the light of the plains.
A sensuous description of childhood, on the surface, but adulthood intrudes. You walk Time itself backward and forward in this eloquent memoir. The last lines are a blow to the heart. - Will
very wonderful memories of childhood... happy and lively.... very unique style of reminiscing one's childhood in poetry.... captivating...thoughts provoking.... 10+++
Thanks, I like this very much. It reminds of a favourite of mine by A. E. Housman, about Shropshire where I spent my childhood... Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills, What spires, what farms are those? That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, The happy highways where I went And cannot come again.
life moves on and the mountain? the mountain blocks the plains; the mountian is time; time blocks the shinning plains, why? life goes on and it's diffiuclt to go back, and the good old day may not be really good, becasue your value toward life would have been changed. what blocks us in life probably is we are blinded by our society, our world. Then life is a game now, Luis. I will call Buddha and ask him.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very nostalgic, a beautiful piece of writing.. Thank you for sharing. Regards, Sandra