In fields of gold rests my wounded heart
as spring races down my avenues of hope,
calling me to unfold my bruised petals
in this moment of magic and delicacy.

Something blossoms quietly within,
summoning daffodils and roses to listen
to a lullaby as the wind kisses the jasmines,
dissolving yesterday in enchanted meadows.

Moving through blue, orchids and myrtles
whisper words of true passion to my eyes.  
I see my soul laughing in lilies and poppies.
My tired blood emerges in my veins again.

I am alive. I survived my own shy winter.
I survived my own pain, my quiet snow,
my tender rain. This is freedom and rebirth.
This is the mystery of life I learnt to sow.

Karla Bardanza

1 comment:

  1. I think this is the most beautiful poem of yours to date. The bruised flowers petals, the snows of winter and the promise of Spring. Very delicate and fragile, like the flower who wrote it. Blessings.