All images are subjected to © Copyright Rosa Cobos 2013 – All rights reserved
Do not sleep upon a star, long time dead.
Do not open your eyes when thunderbolts.
Do not speak the language of the naked trees.
Do not pray with your heart in a glass jail.
Do not cry with the shadows as a mantel.
Do not pretend to be a mute defender of Faith.
Do not swim with your limbs leaded by pain.
Secret stories told by a fool, no one is near.
Counselling behind the parapet of friendship.
And the wise women laughing their passions out.
Serenity being a luxury for the senses, vain.
Each time I am kneeling, the rosary beads bleed.
hanging without any tumultuous rioting,
from my frozen threaded finges on my breast.
The stories speak of rooted branches of winter.
sustaining the Heaven´s dreams under velvet blue.
And of navegating leaves sliding along the mystery,
of waters that keep the hearts moving along the weeds.
And I beleive them all, such is my need for magic.
Dolorosa speaks like silence, with ivory mask…insane.
Alien to my warm breathing…tears of vibrating pace.
© Copyright Rosa Cobos 2013 – All rights reserved