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I live periods of desolation,
an ancient echo in my heart,
my footsteps echo in the mist,
where time stands still, and the gloom lights up.
I see my body ageing,
the wrinkles are witnesses of a yesterday,
in my hands the trace of footprints,
stories and dreams you sometimes flash.
Time has changed,
has painted my days a worn grey,
the colour of my hair, a sad song,
reflection of lives that never wander.
We walk like the blind,
in a labyrinth of memories and old,
where suffering peeks out of the door,
and hope, still fragile, is never found.
I see the faces that carry their history,
the tears that whisper in memory,
we are shadows looking for the sun,
in an uncertain journey, without direction, without control.
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