I greeting to you
disparate workers
ground and fire
The eyes swallows the sun
until exhaustion
Men remained alone
like engraved injured
on the skin of time
You are the Masters
mysteries and
dreams If I could
make you the turn of countries
that you crossed
I would say to you that the source
who gave birth to us
Has dry up
If I could meet you
far from on our home
I would build you
on the palm of my hand
our house
with a little clay
and of the tender tears
like the eyes
of a new-born baby
Today
The masks fell
The singers make fun
Songs which rocked us
Our children do not have
Any more time to play
Our memory it is parceled out
And our dreams have down in the faint
until the vacuum
Memory…
Clay is don’t know the existence
Of the strewn paths
And vertical stones
Mountains…
Formerly untamable kingdoms
trail the tear of absence
The memory of our native land
Has never left us
It is suspended on the sobs
Of streams soled
the murmur of the departure
travel in our heads
like pole star
Thirst…
Memory of water
Our eyes are transpierced
Of thousands of well s
The wander gives its wander
of
mirage in mirage
Our faces drown
in the cruelty of the waves
The glance is lost
The images are superimposed
The words are hustled
A cry…
Barely listening evokes
the whip
drowning