Now, when a little could be enough
And that little is what is missing
Leaving the story uncertain
Because it has lost its end.
Behind the arrangement that was then pretended
The walls outside the pitiful screams
Of those who could but did not want to
And those who wanted 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
As the earth does not take the risk to stop spinning on itself
And although knowing is painful sometimes
The searchers do not cease in their task.
As the sadness in an abandoned camp
In the tiny immensity of everything that was
Where a piece of emptiness is also inserted
Generated by the departure of a companion.
The compass that waits to be used
The time that continues weaving its future silence
And the other way the perception
Of one who remains stubbornly at his locked door.
Being not enough to witness the occurrence
Some of them could not stand the excesses
Together they poured out on a forgotten river
The full cup of a meaningless love
Laughing for lack of desires
That became necessary acquiring importance
And could only be managed with force and skills
But 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 did not learn to be cautious.
If part of the moon split
And the vision of a gleam is lost
And if somebody let it be
It will always continue in that way
With the hands almost full of something that nobody wants.