The gray of the sky has become a pool of tears beneath my feetthe first star of the last hope is blurred with a forced shinesitting cross-legged in the emptiness of my eyes, waiting is what I do best.
I have waited for you so long, trapped in time, that I no longer know how to walkthe wings of flight are nailed to the trees of conscienceand I have imprisoned myself in a sky abandoned by breath and light.
I wait for you, even though I don't want you to comeI wait for you from the habit of waiting, leaning against a bitter lonelinessI wait for you from the habit of waiting for a presence I no longer want.
And don't be surprised, let no one be surprisedeven when wrinkles have become the witnesses of life,when in the garden of waiting you find me gathering daisies again.
For I am not waiting for you, but for myselfI wait for the tales of waiting and the lips where autumns were rebornand for the eyes, with whose colors I fill the goblets of the Gods.
He who has not tasted waiting tries in vain to understandthe anxiety that stirs inside you until another step guides itby the hand like a little child who needs you.
And no one taught me waiting better than you,you opened the book of the still unwritten fairytale and told me:only after you know how to wait, will you know how to love.
