A child, a fountain...


 






I know that you were surprise when I saw you throw a pebble to the heart of the fountain. You turned the small face towards me and perhaps you'd fled, if my solitude hadn't screamed at to you: Don't goYour head was a cowlick of nature wheat. Your eyes, like two blue lagoons filled with with stars and the sun.

When I went near...
In the bed of the water, the white pebble still rocked slowly in the fountain.
It's funny how the void oppresses us, murder us, destroys us, but however one always see beauty in the simplest things.
And I loved that piece white small warmed in your hands.
Do you want to play with me?
Your voice came to me so sweet and delicate that I didn't pronounce words so that the echo of your voice would remain in my soul.
Oh!, my little child... If only you knew how often I've dreamt of this.
I can't go and live with this anxiety. You can take with your hand the sadness  that I feel in my heart.
You feel like I feel.
If I could take you in my arms.
These arms bereft of affection.
I don't know if they even remember how is to embrace with tenderness.
It's like there's something on my mind that's frightening for you.
As, a hint of childish fear shines in your golden pupils and you break into a run.
It was like suddenly it had dropped a black curtain over the world.
The sunset drowned a groan and the faded leaves returned to its agony dance.
Night's fallen. It came up behind me. This young night climbed upon my shoulder and the wail of a siren predicted my future loneliness.
The little child doesn't exist anymore. The light's passed on, take flight.
Only in the middle of the square, this poor beggar grey that dreamed for a moment to be the owner of the sun.

 A child, a fountain



Little angels


Littles angels looking off into nowhere.
Searching for answers they walk quiet to
 inclination of empty spaces...
Nobody cares about to them.
The indifference took hold of the street
and on cold nights, like a  wretched  ghost 
the wind blows hard
and the freeze take early control.
All that remain is a cold and shivering being.
The equality and justice
they are two lunatics roaming...
"Reach out" prohibited words in this world
Don't hang about! - the ignorance were jeering the charity.
Everybody seems to be staring in one direction
like Walking Dead and meanwhile...
children remain at the margins of social transformation.
The children wearing the funny hats, 
juggling just for to dodge hunger and poverty.
If they don't sell oranges, there's no bread.
If they don't sell pies, there's no bread.
That is the reality...
Shining shoes and toting bags
seek to bring relief for the absence of parents.
I feel the cold pavement on their bare feet.
I feel their tremulous hands in my hands.
 
And all customary acts of mercy... 
...are expressly forbidden for the executioner:
An invisible enemy that plays with our minds.








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