A girl that has no name,

which hides her tears before the darkness of the sea; 

dusty books, lonely places

or a chair without repair    

 

The girl who didn’t know what to answer,

that grew up within and put beauty to suffering;

elusive, distant,

a perfume in desolation

 

An empty body that will never be mine;

the indecipherable colors of freedom,

a hand-sculptured wood that does not find its place

 

An inhabited house,

quartz, a sheet of paper,

a thread of silence,

an image in front of a mirror,

a challenge that prevails over pain

 

One who writes poems that no one reads,

who circumvented abasement and committed herself to peace;

the age of the night, the eternity,

the ticking of the last syllable of the heart 

 

Who am I?

©Noris Roberts