A Melody of Me

From the end and between

White mountains,

Blue ocean, 

Red blood from the past.

Of eight points

just one star in the sky,

That bathes with metal

Golden color the surface of my peel.

Like the colors of the air in spring,

Like a garden of roses and violets,

My thoughts are born and die

Eternally.

Maybe too much madness,

Maybe Too much incoherence,

Maybe Too much improvisation,

A liberation rhythm,

the light reflected.

The light reflected.



Without fear of becoming

I sail on freedom,

Because like the crystal water of my feelings;

Pure is my being.