A poem to Rastrelli Sandrine who's a French painter and a teacher being Bela

Sandrine creating an artwork 

They tell me that we have a feeling...
They tell me that we have healing...
They tell you that life's a start...
They tell you that life's hard...
They tell me about the Great God Pan...
They tell me that I should give you my hand...
They tell you that what's new is being blue...
They tell you that in order to breathe, you must eat...
 You tell me this:
- Man, drawing is creating a world within ourselves...
- Writing is putting words into book shelves...
I don't think...
I don't even have ink...
Feelings are attached...
Maybe being you is trying to have more than one patch...
 You tell me this:
- Man, we only have one life...
- Please cut me a cake slice...
 Dinner was finished and we didn't knew what to do, where to go, what to watch, so we started mixing an animal instint with ink...
 - Golden hair, she has...
 - She's not a game chess...
 You said this to me a bit sad feeling bad...
 - Fall was more than staring at a wall...
I said this to you...
- There're white pages to fill, Man...
- I borrow you my pen...
There's a blank note...
 You said this to me
There was some kind of paper boat...
There was an artwork with a coat...
There was longing...
There was funding...
There was charity...
There was an entity...
There was love without a dove...
 Your hair was silk mixed with milk...
 You put a mask in order for your own beauty to be a task...
 - Hey Man, there's no tattoo...
 - I don't know where's my glue...
 Tears were fears in your eyes...
 Fears were tears without lies...
 There was a lonely tree...
 There was you and me...
 There was a shiver when we were in a river...
- Man, memories is what we've...
- There's blood on our head...
 We were trick and treating...
 We were knitting...
 We have feelings when we talk while we walk...
- Kids, they say Man...
- Can you explain to them what's a hand without a pen?
 We were simple soldiers looking with joy at some toy...
 We were a word thrown at the earth...
 We were an image that was giving birth...
- Time flies...
- You know that Man.
 You said this to me...
 I was mirroring your eyes without any lies...
 I was filling pages with ages...
 I was you being me inside thee...
 You were magic in time where minutes made a rhyme...
 - Man, don't tell me that...
 - You know that two languages are a fact...
 I was talking with you...
 Words were being new and new...
 I know you...
 You said...
 You weren't feeling bad or mad...
 Pretty as a picture...
 Your silhouette was a frozen image that chimes where ancient glory of the past is fleeting moments of something that we both knew that was going to last...