THIRST

Like a flower in a thirsty garden, I reach out my hand toward your overflowing river, counting the moments that fill me with memories. How strange is my solitude? It envelops my soul and places me on a bluff forgotten by the water.

I will stay here, waiting for you, waiting for your rain; waiting for your dew without hope or whispering. I have nothing but this unforgettable solitude. Nothing but a strange silence. Yes, it is the canvas of my forgotten stories. When I wake up in the hands of time, I repeat songs and frightened smiles. I wish you would shine on the thirsty fields. How I wish you would feel me one day, to touch with your hand what remains of me.