Sometimes A Piece Of Sun Burned Like

If We Were Not So Single-minded About Keeping Our Lives Moving And For Once Could Do Nothing, Perhaps A Huge Silence Might Interrupt This Sadness Of Never Understanding Ourselves And Of Threatening Ourselves With Death Perhaps The World Can Teach Us As When Everything Seems Dead But Later Proves To Be Alive.

Donde Termina El Arco Iris, En Tu Alma O En El Horizonte? Where Does The Rainbow End, In Your Soul Or On The Horizon?

In The House Of Poetry Nothing Endures That Is Not Written With Blood To Be Heard With Blood.

Hour Of Nostalgia, Hour Of Happiness, Hour Of Solitude.

I Spin On The Circle Of Wave Upon Wave Of The Sea.