What drag the waves,
that when hitting the beach and the rocks,
they are not immune to their stigmas…?

How much this wind impels,
that cures inert faces
of thirsty pilgrims,
in this desert that is life…?

Why does the snow melt,
thawing empty hearts,
of hands with cold designs,
who populate and tame the gall of daring?

How does this rain creep,
that penetrates into this taciturn soul…
disappointed by your gloomy warmth?

We are made of all this,
brave soldiers without roofs,
who love only their beds…
on this damn battered road…
of disappointments and heresies…