I got lost in myself, like the wind that dances without reason
And I looked at the sky, as if it were my last thought
but it just looked back, without promises
I tried to understand, but what is understanding?
Will I ever understand?
Perhaps understanding is just another illusion of the mind

And longing, ah, longing became a shadow
that follows me and touches me with its invisible hands
...

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Life is solid, made of earth and stone,
of roots that sink deep into the silence of the soil.
Each step, an echo in the field of time,
each breath, a reminder that we are (in)finite.
There is strength in the winds we cannot see
and in the falling leaves that fear not the winter.
Love is not fleeting, but like the rock,
firm, built in the fissures of being.
And when the sky closes,
when th...

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The night falls without haste
wrapping the earth in its subtle hands.
The wind, silent, traces the outlines of space
and the stars are brief words
written in the black sky

Nothing moves, yet everything unfolds
Time dissolves in the cool air
where solitude becomes company
and silence is profound
a voiceless song that spreads
through every corner of the world

Distant lights seem to fl...

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The sky, that cries all night, without a break
The pain in fields turns into sorrow’s song
Ah! Who am I, lost, walking through the ache?
Is it just a dream, or agony so long?

The sea, the waves break strong upon the shore
And I, in vain, seek out a resting place
But winds that drag me leave me evermore
And carry me beyond, with endless pace

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The wind blows through the palm trees
like someone passing by without a sound,
but leaves the trace of its presence
in the song of the birds.

The sun is already low,
and the earth, warm, breathes slowly.
Each step is a reminder
that time is a road that doesn't turn back.

Life is made of small gestures:
the worker’s embrace,
the child's smile,
the gaze of the woman who makes a home a...

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She was poetry, a dance in the air
Moving lightly, like a verse floating there
Hair in the wind, unpretentious lines
Her smile illuminated cloudy times
He, a simple man, lived raw prose each day
With calloused hands, unaware of the way
Life in bold letters, beauty lost in the grind
Chapters predictable, meaning hard to find
At the craft fair, a sun shining bright
He watched from afar, not...

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