The whispers are dialogues with the other side—the one inscrutable part of ourselves. Love and hate are confused as the changing of the seasons to show different moods—often in contradiction. During the most violent storms they separate blaming each other, to return when the sun emerges. Winners or losers, they hold hands.






Pebble

A pebble rolls downstream
every time you love me.

Crossing perennial snows,
pine woods and streams,
it ride the purity of the sun.

It breathe the scent of the greener pastures
and their eternal wisdom
before continuing towards the valley.

On unusual paths, cliffs and waterfalls,
it goes free and lonely
rounding all its corners.

Now it’s coming,
you can open your hands
to its impact and emotion.