Those falling effortlessly
Like feathers of eaglets
Which are floating on air
Like thoughts of chosen people.
They decided to be present consciously
Like a yoke imposed and a plow accepted
Who perceived as much in an occurrence
Like the scab of the thorn of immobile existence
Able to record the movement of others.
Who during the first rays of the sun in the morning
That shatters without breaking on the walls
Like lips that did not pray the night before
Feeling powerless to follow the desires of the soul,
Four stars that can make up a cross
And three of them an arrow that never fails
Time is not held up in the heart
Despite of having been written in front of your eyes.
It is and will continue being possible
The intensity of beginning and persistence of some
That when one is separated from another
Even in disorder the wisdom obtained will become in beauty.
If the moon stops changing for ever
Would end changing for one who observes it
That the floating raft could become a burden
As the son relying on his mother and demanding many sacrifices.
During this morning like many others
None face would dawn equal to any other
As the schedule direct our actions
But it is clocking second hand that pushes and pulls.
That someone who already believes he is expected
And silently awaits a greeting
Like Esteban, seeing the splinter in another’s eye and not the beam in his own
And still resides with beggar children on the corners.
Palm trees smile in hardship seeking the sky
Although few of them reaches and none remains
That the day could not be as a rotating coin
Only an intention that opens its way between two columns.