The spirit of the waters still didn't rejuvenate her because her poetry is frozen, cold. The noises of the drums are listened in the savannas caressing him moistened grass of the vigil nights without roofs. In the distance it is heard agitating of wings of the perished bThe spirit of the waters still didn't rejuvenate her because her poetry is frozen, cold. The noises of the drums are listened in the savannas caressing him moistened grass of the vigil nights without roofs. In the distance it is heard agitating of wings of the perished birds of the contagious uncertain direction. The fights and our aspirations lead us to the convulsions of the glances loaded of betrayal, humiliation and spoliation. To live is to combat, for better life conditions to obtain. Revolutionary is just a mere word that is it of facto, never uses her. Poet is to know to meditate, to savor the movements of a stopped screen but showing us the movements of the History of the slavery and of the human infamy. Glance is to show, to prove that the immensity of the Universe is microscopic, such and which is as the love.
Image: Mountain of Baltoro - Pakistan
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