All love stories were stories to her
But when she fell in love,
All these stories seen in the mirror of life
Turned out to be the highest truths,
The most beautiful truths life could offer.
It is believed that lovers
Count stars in the night
And in the day, castles are made in the mind.
However, he did the abstract paintings at night
And she wrote the poems loaded with sensuality,
Gorgeous in their effects, voluptuously alive.
Her poems had a ravishing beauty
And his paintings serenely flawless.
Both were happy with whatever they did
According to their own convictions and inner beliefs
For they believed more in the needs
Of the heart and the soul
Than the growing needs of the body,
So changing like the seasons,
From fire to frost and from frost to flowers.
And when they met, their silence
Communicated more than words or looks.
It was like a silence of the desert
Where there are few motions
And motionlessness creates emotions.
Quietly, love grew in their hearts.
The silence of her poems touched
The colors of his paintings
And with each emotion, another hue was added
To their love, just like the color red
Grows slowly but surely on strawberries.
They swam with the whales
Listening to their calls in the deep waters,
Basked in the sun,
Applying scented oil to their naked bodies,
Kisses and pampered each other like children.
They promised not anything to each other
For their love itself was a promise
That could stand the tests of time.
Painting-Poem -- Joan Miró