A Poetry

Some clouds have passed over

Which have caused me to tremble

And have disturbed my nostalgia.

I remember when in a silence

You were caressing my soul

And your eyes burned in mine.

The evenings passed

Without sunset,

We only realised that we were dying

Little by little

Slowly,

We were suffering.

And after,

When the days pass,

And nothing is left,

And when our brow is wrinkled

And your soul is calloused,

When the days work of plowing

Becomes infinite

And your smile has become a marrtyr,

Rember that which was so simple,

And so pure,

When hand in hand we searched for smething eternal,

Intensely feeling

At that instance;

living.