DEATHS

There are people who carry

their bad luck inside them

Little hands holding roses

hands warm from the joy of kisses

little hands holding roses

and knocking at the door of death

my beloved eyes that thirsted for something

you have remained thirsty glasses

my beloved eyes that thirsted for something

you have remained closed windows

oh, lips that had much to say, lips

your words chose your grave

oh, lips that had much to say, lips

you didn’t mention of the grief I write.

Beloved eyes, little hands, lips narrate to me

the momentary pain, the pain of a place

beloved eyes, little hands, lips narrate to me

the Pain of things and that of Man

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