Kernels of life

Who knew, in this crowd, exist some faces,

Which never behest, or need to be remembered,

Nor the time ever dares to rust their freshness,

With them, stars stay frightened to rule our fate.

Their redolence draws us even miles away,

and their glaze contrives to dawn upon our sight,

amid billion others, in the same universe.

 

Who knew, that when he painted this place,

The colors scattered, somewhere dense and light;

And these days his people, bedaubed with grace

In the blackness of life, beatify lost ones like us.

They’re convalescing his painting of this world befogged,

And the lives of ours which had bowed before it,

They speak to us, the unheard voices of life.

 

Who knew, in this crowd, exist some faces,

Which walk a bit with us, and become kernels of life.

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