MARTHA VASCANTIRA

 

 

The Key

 

He was born in the castle like everyone else.

From the windows he looked at life

running in the streets.

He could not leave.

His feet were rooted in the living room.

Sometimes with a sense of responsibility and decency,

other times with a touch stripped of the truth.

In the bedroom only the desires spoke to him and the whispers was made huge waves of freedom to keep his loneliness.

His corridor showed the steps to the big door…

Next door, the isolation.

He went in and out often without ever approaching the door of dreams.

They told him “The unknown hurts and the dangers will quickly make you old".

He frowned, afraid of his desire to live.

They told him “You are not ready to fly alone”.

He believed it.

And every day he stood behind the curtains.

He looked at the key in disbelief as if he were a friend who betrayed him in the hour of love.

Decisions once changed.

They told to him, you can now meet the world.

 "With all the light you carry on your wounded wings."

But he could no longer.

He did not understand why, they changed their mind.

That's how they taught him.

Now what did they want?

When they saw the sadness in his eyes, this darkness frightened them.

They saw their mistakes.

They asked for forgiveness.

But he did not believe them.

It did not fit in his mind.

And so, he came to the conclusion that they wanted the tower taken from him.

The years have passed.

The others set off on a long journey.

The why was holding their hand.

Why did he not listen to them now too?

 He alone was always looking behind the curtains.

One day he saw the key.

 It was rusty of patience.

He thought of washing it.

Now that the fear had been extinguished,

 from the sponge of time.

He said to take a walk.

 His plans had been made.

His schedule would not spoil.

He would take a walk alone.

He wandered for hours.

His blood began to come alive again.

He was sad when he arrived at the castle.

"Why did I spend my youth like that?"

"I suffocated my momentum."

He did not want to go back to the castle.

 He stayed outside and waited ...

the dream, becoming a child again.

And he held the key tightly.

He would not leave it again.

 Neighbors found him in the morning, looking at the street with a smile.

Through his white hair, the world began to shine.

His old body stood proudly.

His hand clenched into a fist.

They opened it and found

a key rusty…

 

MARTHA VASCANTIRA