Since serving life in small bowls
Sometimes bundled with some fake smile and light
For the peace of the dead ones
I only know simple happiness
A back and forth between sweat
And the bread in which I see mother's face
The image and likeness of heaven
Wrapped in shrouded sun
If I could only return
And raise up my arms
But all dreams shattered
With dust or crosses
That are not written in stories
I then began to walk alone
Crushed under my heels wings or mud
In vain you take away the clouds now
I write verses and I burn
As a whip of unfinished time
Forgive me that I've never learned to fly
From rising high to the depths
Still alive
