And here am I, budding among the ruins with only sorrow to bite on, as if weeping were a seed and I the earth's only furrow.

I want to see thirst In the syllables, Tough fire In the sound; Feel through the dark For the scream.

I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.

We must dream our way.

Perhaps this war will pass like the others which divided us leaving us dead, killing us along with the killers but the shame of this time puts its burning fingers to our faces. Who will erase the ruthlessness hidden in innocent blood?

Love is a clash of lightnings

Let us look for secret things somewhere in the world on the blue shore of silence or where the storm has passed rampaging like a train. There the faint signs are left, coins of time and water, debris ,celestial ash and the irreplaceable rapture of sharing in the labour of soitude in the sand.