The Corridor

The yard of our house had a door to Granny's yard
Having passed through a corridor
Coming down a few steps
You could smell the sweet odor coming from Granny's kitchen
Which would change the world's color
It was not just the smell of food
It was the smell of Mother's hands
The smell of the sound of Grandfather's laughter
The warm smell of a red apple
Which, once threatened by a knife,
Spread the aroma of the gatherings on the balcony.
This love had no decoration
Did pure beauty need any?!
Was there anything more beautiful to beautify it?
Was there a color anywhere
More beautiful
To adorn its visage?