Illuminated, illuminating them
She is no longer young, old, but she is of spirit, of soul
He stayed stationed in an age of joy,
Only she knows how old she talks.
Inside there is an eternal girl who dances, flies
Run, play, dream, girl who could not be,
She was trapped forever, luckily.
And it’s that girl who moves her, gives her a naughty light that radiates,
She is the lamp of her home, in her role no longer as a mother and as an adult,
Of naughty girl who plays and has fun.
For everything she has a grace, a joke a joke,
Her body moves and she feels it, her light accompanies her,
His visceral passion for everything, is there with her.
There are beings that illuminate, that radiate energy even in difficult moments,
She is one of those, incandescent person,
That transcends your soul tearing you away, il sorriso.
She is a mother, she is adult, she is professional,
It must be serious? Who says it …………
So she did everything in her life, so they know her
And in the midst of all those roles your joy finds space
Or say it, or show it, or write it, or whisper it, or sing it, or dance
Those who know her know her, wait for her, enjoy her, and some love her
Because it knows how to illuminate in many cases what for some is cenit,
And in situations that are already in decline,
Pray a joke, a play on words, a joke, or a mime to the soul,
A crazy solution, a funny answer of the absurd.
She touches you, caresses you, irreverent to your habits at your age or expectation
Because he knows about human contact, because he knows if you need
Sorceress of moments of moments that steal smiles in the soul.
He is her husband, her husband, for he ties her, his owner,
He does not understand it, it is uncomfortable, so much in composure,
He shuts her down, he ignores her, he ties her up little by little
Let him behave, do not shine! his light suffocates … bothers him.
And in silence, crouched when she is unarmed
He throws his best claw, the word,
Phrases so hurtful that only by spitting them and at the exact moment,
That if you have to admit it,
And there it destroys it, the part in crystals
As a high voltage in the electric current
She receives the shock and remains as a burnt toaster
It does not even have its light, nor flash, nor reflection,
And if you approach you will feel the smell burned to Bakelite,
And if you could see her, humiliates her.
And so little by little it goes off, with its darkness
He is a good man, but dark,
That I throw light on his way
Because he does not smile, or he will not smile at you,
He can not see his light, but, to turn it off,
A manotones, repressing it, humiliating it
Day by day, year by year, inexorably
But she decides to flee or to go off before herself.