Sometimes...solutions don't have problems.

I went down the mountainside
trying to hear if then I could
the happy laugh the river’s guarding,
the last echoes from my childhood.

A yearn, a pilgrimage to my past,
forest, army of trees, scents of woods,
with crisscrossing paths going nowhere,
reach Shangri-la…only by foot.

You couldn’t see the flowing waters
but like Ulysses its Sirens murmur,
which were riding on the river’s waves
enticing for a swim the truant’s young.

Eating berries, figs and wild apples
was then, a forbidden fun,
than see the summer go past the window
in the prison that they call a school.

In the time glass has been too long
since the child smile could touch my soul,
but where we bathed, screamed and fished
was the place where all laugh were born.

I have the problem of an empty space
left by the absence of happy thoughts,
which so many children spread around
like seeds of life for tomorrow’s crop.

I deep my fingers in the warm waters
trying to fell again what I feel no more,
and then I heard the giggling laughter
which the river warded from the world.

My secret garden always be there
inn the very heart of a lost childhood,
holding a solution without a problem
and an empty space where to put my soul.