The dust wants a kiss of pride
So that by humility it can be lifted
When the years don’t let us wait
When the child stops being a bud.
For this, when you bow before God
You must consider the far call
Of a man humiliated by another
And to whom you were thinking to say good bye.
Remember slowly during the night
That the day of a child lasts years
That there aren’t wipers for certain wounds
That some acts can’t be cleaned with baths
When they result in so much damage
That only could remain in the space.