The tree that was cut down more
than twenty years cannot return.
That soil that nourished it yesterday is no longer his land,
neither the precise space that yesterday contained it.
The root remained there, no one doubts it,
disintegrating little by little,
disappearing in the traces of the ephemeral.
But the tree can’t even go back to the memory of the dry leaves,
nor to feel sorry for the bare branches.
It is even more impossible to dream of cicadas,
the nests of the birds, the butterflies, the basket bugs.
Not even with messengers of the Gods,
prohibited or anachronistic.

I cannot come back as a tree, a root, or a person.
Not me, and not even as “the Other.”
I can’t go back even if you suffer, Soul.
I can’t go back neither here, nor there,
and it is also impossible to turn back.

Soul, even if you overwhelm Me, even if you deny Me,
Although if in the attempt to return
You tear my body without MERCY!
Only in this Body of Mine is your place,
to continue choosing with the Heart,
twenty-four hours a day.

Because Love is the Only Way to Heaven.