The House ©
By Ben Bustillo – Prohibited its reproduction
Yellow, white, blue or rose, its color never mattered,
Neither its leaking roof, the windows that opened to a past, or the closets
Filled with stories of generations of one or two, some sad,
Some happy, and others, just plain as the many days…
To wake up to the smelling rooms coming from the aromas of the trees,
The floors tired of the steps of the many years, the doors corroded
With the closing of the ancient that came with the winters and the summers,
The dreams, the nightmares, was it the time to let it float?
Brick by brick, stud by stud, the bars blocking the view to protect,
The slow steps of mother and father that the time had taken away,
The streets paved with the sharing of people around that came and went,
Was it the time to let it sing another tune?
The stories abounded with ghosts and the make believe,
Like the image of fatherly protection that was chosen to be preserved,
With a hat, the coat and the chair, the goodbyes, and anxiety of return,
Is it the time to close the doors or the window that anchored my soul?
Every morning that was planned without seeing the mirror,
Every walk through the road of life had ever been taken,
The countries, the worlds of others that surrounded a spirit,
Made her comeback to the sunny morning, to the tenebrously silence,
To the slow chanting of a new future to one day, or the other the next day,
Doubts that abounded looking for a voice to say,
Is it the time now? When would the moment be?
Should I knock this door? I will paint the kitchen tomorrow or the next day,
I will move away and fly to a new beginning, is it the time today?
Looking somewhere when the answer is in my inner self,
But today is the day, or is it tomorrow?
The day has arrived, to close the doors and the windows,
Of the house that always was the place of all, I thought,
But it was only mine who was tied to the floors, the ceilings
Of the past, the voices who filled every corner or were only in me?
Time is here, to close my window’s door, to lock the front door
And throw away the key I have around my neck,
Was it the time to build a new one, or was I going to remain
Tied to a past, the one all tell me to leave but I am afraid to let go?
Yellow, white, blue or rose, its color never mattered,
Neither its leaking roof, the windows that opened to a past, or the closets
Filled with stories of generations of one or two, some sad,
Some happy, and others, just plain as the many days…
To wake up to the smelling rooms coming from the aromas of the trees,
The floors tired of the steps of the many years, the doors corroded
With the closing of the ancient that came with the winters and the summers,
The dreams, the nightmares, was it the time to let it float?
Brick by brick, stud by stud, the bars blocking the view to protect,
The slow steps of mother and father that the time had taken away,
The streets paved with the sharing of people around that came and went,
Was it the time to let it sing another tune?
The stories abounded with ghosts and the make believe,
Like the image of fatherly protection that was chosen to be preserved,
With a hat, the coat and the chair, the goodbyes, and anxiety of return,
Is it the time to close the doors or the window that anchored my soul?
Every morning that was planned without seeing the mirror,
Every walk through the road of life had ever been taken,
The countries, the worlds of others that surrounded a spirit,
Made her comeback to the sunny morning, to the tenebrously silence,
To the slow chanting of a new future to one day, or the other the next day,
Doubts that abounded looking for a voice to say,
Is it the time now? When would the moment be?
Should I knock this door? I will paint the kitchen tomorrow or the next day,
I will move away and fly to a new beginning, is it the time today?
Looking somewhere when the answer is in my inner self,
But today is the day, or is it tomorrow?
The day has arrived, to close the doors and the windows,
Of the house that always was the place of all, I thought,
But it was only mine who was tied to the floors, the ceilings
Of the past, the voices who filled every corner or were only in me?
Time is here, to close my window’s door, to lock the front door
And throw away the key I have around my neck,
Was it the time to build a new one, or was I going to remain
Tied to a past, the one all tell me to leave but I am afraid to let go?
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