My grandfather had a dream-machine. Every day he added some special part, clothed it with lots of colors, even when the days were grey. He cleaned the machine, repaired it, losened the hate and tightened the love. That was his daily routine.
I have seen him talking to the machine. He told me, that life itself had given him the tools to create his dream-machine. He inherited some of his tools to me, so that I could create my own machine. "I'm already working on it, Grandpa, only the wings are missing yet."
Now, that I understand the price and the worth of life, I can confirm my theory: My mother had a tree with coins! She had planted it to be able to raise her children. It was in a secret place, with lots of colors, lots of fantasy and magic. Yesterday in my dream - I went to that fantastic place. The coin-tree still exists. It doesn't have much fruits, because we are already grown-up. My mother still visits it out of gratitude.
Little plain of paper
from times far distant,
from my illusion,
with my heart you have flown.
Fly high and splendid,
lift yourself up to the stars,
with your lovely wings,
fly into freedom.
Games of my childhood,
winds of innocence,
air of fantasy,
illusions that emerge,
little airplane of my memories,
I'll always be your captain.
Poem by Mauricio Olmedo
Guided by the bright star of my childhood,
follow your path.... little boat of paper,
the compass shows you the north,
wonderful fantasy, with our dreams we navegate,
to the ocean of our life.
With heavy rains, against strong winds,
or in the pacific sea, moments of fantasies,
illusions - like diamonds,
feelings of love, peace....freedom,
dreams of every child, that holds the wheel
in our little boat of paper.
Poem by Mauricio Olmedo
Once upon a time...
when our games were blessed,
they made us forget the adult's worries,
all the problems of our family,
we nether thought about money.
The only important thing
was heaving time to play.
How could I forget our plastic car,
our mumbles, airplanes painted on the street,
our plastic ball that blessed us with soccer games,
on our streets of mudd.
Times have changed and technology
came to take over our children's thoughts.
Now you only need a receptacle to play.
As children we admired the superheroes on TV
we dreamed of being like them....
childhood of illusion!
Time has passed and I noticed, that my brother and me, we are the real superheroes. We fight against all odds, we're even better than Superman and all the others.
Their stories simply ended, but we add another adventure every day. Each day we are superheroes. We don't need to be on TV, we only need the next day to write our own, true story.