A thought... from far

Crowded, noisy, smoky.
Everything is loud and fast.
We walk, then run.
We talk and laugh, then repent.
Nothing we are sure of.
Then in the mid of all troubles,
shines your face.
A memory of you.
I pump into an old picture.
Your far voice from a long way.
You make it different.
The noise subsides, and the smoke clears.
A clean place in the heart.
A sweet laugh on the phone.
A thought.
Comes from far.
Years pass by.
Smoke and clouds, and beautiful flowers.
A dream.
Troubles of the day, and everyday.
Then a sweet smile, a laugh on the phone.
A thought from far, from those old pictures.
There or not there, you are still here.
Not by face, not by breath.
By a hope and a misty dream.
Not for becoming real.
For getting through the clouds.
For the picture to keep its colors.
For the phone to have a ringing bell.
Go again into the crowd.
Inhale the smoke again.
While the picture is in your pocket.
And that thought, from far, is in your heart.