My heart is a delicate flower,
yet more valiant than any warrior in sturdy,
bulletproof armour.

My heart has cried many bloody tears.
Through the years, it has survived many a holocaust
and dodged witch-hunt spears.
My heart has laughed exuberantly,
like a gregarious, well-pampered child,
or a blind man seeing the morning sun rise,
each day, as if for the first time,
with the light
fantastically blasting open his eyes
to the sacred miracle of life.

My heart is a bohemian troubadour,
it does not know which way to go…

It simply goes along each and every road,
singing it’s spontaneous, enamoured song—
falling in love and rising above
the heavens
that men said were the limit
and the pinnacle to human existence.
But, in love I found the golden ticket,
to jump the fence and liberate my spirit.

Now my heart can’t be contained—
it’s the most potent instrument I’ll ever possess.

Actually, it’s me who’s been possessed,
By a divine force
of unconditional love and affection,
warmth, and compassionate attention,
which has devoured me whole,
like a gluttonous wolf,
hair to feet,
With my bones he’s picked his teeth.

Now there’s nothing of me left to show,
ever since,
all I live for is for being in love
with the roses, with the trees,
with the rocks, the winter and spring,
with the endless wonder of everything around me.
I fall into every hole,
and there I lie low,
for a while, in silence,
And darkness.
In the stillness and quiet.
Then suddenly I leap
and grow higher than anywhere I’ve ever been before.

My heart is fertile soil,
where pain and toil were transformed
into fruitful compost.
Where once the seed of love was planted,
there was no deterrent.
It grew with the roots of an oak
and the altitude of a sycamore.
In it’s trunk I found a secure, humble home,
where I live simply,
writing poetry, in serene solitude.
Seeing life multicoloured
and hearing the birds sing their chirpy chorus.
Making love in contagious rhythm each morn,
even in autumn,
that’s why I think of you often…

But, you know the door of my heart’s home is always open,
for brewed tea or a cup of coffee,
strawberries and cream.

Kindness and love
are the only real treats I can offer though,
But when I give them, I give my all,
my whole amorous fortune,
with integrity—and to infinity.
So come on in,
And let’s partake of this divine festivity.
~

Author: Fiorella Matos Guerra
Image: Sarah Swinton/Unsplash
Editor: Lieselle Davidson
Supervising editor 1: Yoli Ramazzina