I shared everything I had and kept for myself
the outline of my sandals, the courtyard of my heart.
From my heart I made myself a deserted beach, which awaits, every day, a great noisy invasion.
And I no longer read indiscriminately everything that comes my way; I make the books dance salsa and tell me the multiplication table of love by heart, before inviting them inside, barefoot and dressed in sackcloth.
From time to time I meet a swallow-man, in golden chains, and I draw Africa on the back of his hand, because, you know, the first person who saw the pyramid was the one who dared to dream it;
I don't want to convince anyone of anything, but what I've seen and tasted in the land of happiness, that's what I sing at foreign tables,
that you have nothing in this world, only what you have loved and wept for on paths, what you have eaten looking fondly at the other, what you have drunk whispering to the stars on nights whitewashed with the disinfectant lime of love,
and the paths you have touched with the light whiskers of your soul, seeking the footsteps of the Barefoot One, and the eyes you have washed with beauty and kindness, for if your eye is clean the whole world will teem with divinity,
and the paths you have touched with the whiskers of light, seeking the sighs of the Resurrected One,
the paths.
Lord, have mercy on my wretched sandals and quickly weave for me a path towards You, from three threads, two knit and one purl, two of laughter and one of tears, as it is fitting for man to flow through the world.
Fr. Crin-Triandafil Theodorescu