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Victor Bellavista

The bird

I have a bird that wants to sing

but I can hardly ever hear him.

There is a dog that wants to eat it.

He bites, barks and scares away anyone who approaches him.

He is blind.

The bird waits,

lonely,

the dog is afraid,

he suffers,

he is also alone

but only he feels alone.

From its shelter

the bird looks into those sad eyes that cannot see,

and begins to sing with compassion,

a tender melody for that poor dog

that gradually stops barking as he begins to cry.

And only then can I, when hearing his tears,

see the loneliness and desolation in him,

while in the background I hear the bird,

that seeing the dog laying down docilely next to me,

flies up to perch on my shoulder

so that I can clearly hear its voice,

and thus, be able to paint its singing,

that full of light and love

croons the sincerest notes

that my heart has ever heard.

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