I walk my innermost thoughts, often, with my complicated mind,
Tangled in ultimate questions and sombre bewilderments.
As bare as the ash trees, caressed by a touch of breeze,
Holding the infinite over their branches.
Twisting my ideas between the chests of miracles,
Those reddish illusions for my midwinter mornings.
Sparking joyful like the cheerful red berries on the barren stems.
Seeking the spring of hope, lost in a carousel of wonder.
I walk my very thoughts, often, with my troubled mind,
Listening the songs of quietness vibrating between the emotions
Left by the snowy spells, written in the chambers of heart.
I do not remember the season my mom told me the snowdrops’ poem,
But the emotion stays with me, wrapping my consciousness in a warm coat of love,
Telling myself the legends of forgiveness and mercy,
Quiet, humble yet sublime in the shadows of seraphs
Who are chanting the psalms of renaissance written in heavens.
© Simona Prilogan, 20/01/2023, London