It was a warm and breezy night
engulfed in the sweet tune of Copacabana;
a night so quiet and full of dance –
a perfect time, for a grant of a lover’s charm.
A fresh smell of rain washed over the white, balmy sand
and cleansed the upheaval of the sky; wiped the clamor of the printed life.
The sober sea slumped towards the murky sadness, sorrowful and softened;
ashamed for its powers and its wrath.
The wind sauntered the lonesome beach, abandoned
of the company and friendship, in search
of the rhythmic melody that echoed in the starry night.
He heard the whispered cry of the one left behind,
floating, phantom-like, in the faintly starry sky.
A house, erect and proud, a couraged post among the weathered sandy shores,
where the sound of music, of wicked charms, spilled into the night;
A house where he saw her, dancing. Dancing in the warm and breezy night
entranced by the sweet tune of Copacabana. The curtains
whispered to the Wind; a tone full of sweet nothings and they fell
in love; under the tropic moon they met and known each other.
She reached for his kiss; he reached for her touch, but how is it meant
to be? He is a wanderer, an immortal capricious being of a thousand cultures.
She is gullible, wishful; a naive youth that giggles at every touch. Her love flows freely
to those that ask. Does she not belong to everyone; does he not belong to noone?
She muses and amuses her companions, dances to every tune. Can she be mused?
Can he be tamed?
The wind who travels and his lover who floats through motions and emotions,
like a candle in the windy night… (How) Is it meant to be?