A day from the Day 3

This one did not come easy
One was ok
Exited the second came to be
Since a week or more
I am seeking the day 3

The traveller inside the day 2
teared her tears
that made her tore down
To recover
I need to sit in silence
the wow of silence
maybe
fasting in the melody of
silent
emotions

The wave of the day 2
Came from the oceans of the past
Shaved the beard of sand
underneath
lied the stones
precious
to be the new sand
in a hundred
years

Some, write with pens
some, with paints
I used the silence
writing on my soul
my body, as the stone
of the dead past
that I have been
burying
like a seed
then
my body
is the flower bed
life comes from dead
as it is
present comes from
severed emotional relations
with the dead
memories and moments of our
past

Hear, hear!
I saw the tear
coming as my neighbour
I said, I thought you were a vapour
she said,
I am here
to water the seeds in your
new sculpture
of soul
No, I said,
I cannot take it
I will ask the clouds
the rain to shine as a sun
on the newly planted garden
of my
human soul
and I prayed
opened my hands
to the depths of nature
to the skies
the One
who is above beyond and with
to the One
who can erect
the sculpture of
human soul

This being said my friend,
Do not think you are walking alone
as a living dead
as a dead living
on the graveyard of your past
on the flower bed of your present
remember
each of us has a gift
to receive via life
and that is
erecting the edifice of the ultimate human self
that can
beyond the angels
if not, beneath the all

The tear smiled in my ink
she vanished to the paper
I searched and searched and searched
in vain,
she whispered
I am in your last letter
in your last sentence
you cried with my voice
you smiled like the angels
I see the smile of a rose
in your trip to self on the paper
bon voyage, dear traveller
your gift is travel and travel with the rest

I rest my poem
the pen of this case
I raise my hands
empty of ink and the self