When we are unequal we lose one another,
we lose our butterfly,
our wings, our willingness to urge,
to flow to the flower beds,
floating on the surface of the radiances ,
flowering the dream of gardens.
When we are unequal we lose
our merit of being a bloom,
pinning the meadows
in the butterfly preen of a garden,
we lose our ability of combusting
on the bonfires of blossoms,
on the flame of petals,
in square thurible of the seasons.
When we are not equal
we are lonely, separated, wobbling and harsh
we aren’t no more scales, seesaws,
we aren’t one we aren’t us:
-the two sides of a coin,
of a kiss,
of a visage
-the two question marks that make a heart-
we are not accordant,
we are not symmetrical,
we aren’t beautiful,
we aren’t musical,
we’re crude when we aren't equal,
then
the world loses its true poise;
the poise then would be something lost in us
that to find it we lose ourselves in everything
-like Elward who searched in everything for “Liberty”.
-When we are not equal
we have lost something in the alleys of ourselves,
something that we prowl in every mirror searching for it,
something that to fined it
we create the world
on and on
again.
When we are not equal
in all the flower gardens
in the canvas of all painted petals,
in the bows of all the reminiscences,
on the sail of all the winds,
on the pasturage of all the bird songs,
in all the gardens’ alleys of conception, and creation,
with our butterfly net
we run after
to catch.
