Now, when a little could be enough
That little is what is missing
Leaving the plot trembling
Because it has lost its end.
Behind the arrangement that was then pretended
Walls outside the pitiful screams
Of those who being able didn’t want to
And those wanting but were not able.
Although the sun is still shining
The afternoon already becomes serious
Such as the face of the novice
When understanding that he is no more.
The moles continue secure in their tunnels
The earth doesn’t take the risk to stop spinning on itself
And although to know is painful sometimes
The searchers don’t cease in their task.
In the sadness in an abandoned camp
In the tiny immensity of everything that was
A piece of emptiness is also inserted
That is generated by the departure of a companion.
The compass that waits to be used
The time that continues weaving its silent future
And the other side of perceptions
Someone remains seized upon his locked door.
It wasn’t enough to observe for the other
Someone couldn’t with the excess
Together they poured out on a forgotten river
The cup of then full of an absurd love
That could laugh for lack of desires
And that becoming necessary gained its weight
That could only be managed with force and skills
And not with torrid surrenders already empty of innocence.
In the destiny of the worms
In the cold hatred that the spikes feel in themselves
And in the perspiration from the armpits of the midwife
In the infinite stupidity of one who didn’t learn to care.
Part of the moon is split
The capture of a spark is lost
And someone let that what remains
It wouldn’t be more than to continue so
With the hands almost full of what nobody wants.