She died a long time ago
when she fell from her pure depths,
embracing the shadows, dreaming,
deceiving the wind.

It was as if she were extracting
force from the clouds,
painting a canvas of air,
instructing herself to get there.

She was born to understand
but she couldn't be understood.
She was born to listen
but nobody could hear her fragile inside.
Little by little she forgot to sharpen her claws.
One day somebody crushed them
when she was trying to be herself.
( how difficult it was to be herself!)

Her wordlessness has always been my anguish,
my silence and pain.
How many times do we have to die in order
to quieten our mountains, our rain?

She died a long time ago,
trying to stay strong
when she was right,
when she was wrong.

But she is still here:
an awkward acrobrat in life,
falling, falling
and never reaching
this beauty, this improbable beauty
that makes her heart aches.

Karla Bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2011

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