Behind the shots, behind the frames, behind the scenes,
Behind the protective walls and behind the screens,
There, sub rosa, well sheltered,
Hides the long, smooth thread
That comes out of life.
A cloud-like fibrous substance that feeds the cotton seeds,
That keeps them alive, traps them but never soothes them,
In its sun-drenched homeland.
A thread of inclination and attachment,
Connecting all and pointing to all.
It never flaunts its beginning or its end.
Real dramas are not played out in the limelight.
When the curtain falls, look behind the scenes.