by Màrcia Theòphilo
At the beginning there was no night.
The night was unknown.
There was only light and it was so intense,
in the tropics,
one seemed to be moving through aeons of blue,
of vermilion, of green.
The light was so strong that it seemed to be surging
in the colors
in the plants.
That which did not have words spoke:
trees talked amongst themselves
and exchanged thoughts with the flowers.
No one knew black:
only colors existed
which emanated light,
which gave out energy-thought
There was no sleeping
for man didn't know weariness
knew not, the sweetness of rest
silence and music
because music was born
with the knowledge of the first rhythm
and with the night was born the first song.
Submitted by Claudia Perona