Two thin lines dance without stopping
dance to the rhythm of two melodies,
different, but from the same poem.
They dance under the sun, the rain, in a storm,
dance afar, barely brushing each other… instants.
And yet they dance under the same sky, they always have.
They follow their own path, inevitably,
curved, angular, cutting, surprising,
sometimes tangled up, enmeshed,
other times simply straight.
They travel on parallel tracks, distant,
able to intersect each other rapidly,
only for a few seconds, a common destiny.
They travel at two different speeds,
they go far from each other, they go near, they get lost, they find each other,
they go through each other, they separate only to find themselves, again,
in a time impossible to define,
impossible to get.
Two thin lines dance without stopping,
they dance to the rhythm of primordial drums,
different theater stages, same Life.
Waiting to meet Laura… (from May 19, 2020! *)
Translation: Starleen K. Meyer
original photo: Web