spring's qualia

red redness of crimson
yesteryear’s happiness 
covered with silence
 
she was beautiful
from any angle you looked at her
any perception that could
make you aware of her presence
there was tenderness in her voice
innocence in her gaze
love in every line, in every curve
in every expression of her face
her crimson lips, softer
than the silk of roses or
any other flower
whenever they smiled
they made you feel peace
 
but nothing made me feel
the fire...
reddened, silent, destructive
that from the depths was consuming
her few autumns
that were all my happiness
as bright and dazzling
as the fiery sky of the Aurora
that to the shepherds
in the highlands and
sailors on the high seas
foretells the terrible storm
 
I saw all signs
but no warnings
not on the cross at the entrance
of accidents and emergency
nor the handwritten note
which also in red added
“no companions allowed”
 
with the sad hue
of her crimson lips
she smiled briefly at me
with the faint and dull shadow
of that springtime
she sent me a kiss, saying
“goodbye, my love” and
unbeknownst to her
“goodbye world”
“goodbye life”