Maybe a rose will grow from the ashes,
who knew that the cloudy sky
hides an earthly wonder.
Blood drips instead of rain.
Did the clouds feel the cry and the pain?
I planted a poppy to fill my heart with love
and not poverty that touches me.
A crowd of old men reminds
me of ruined cities.
I have oleanders whose leaves
are poisonous in tea,
feel free to use them warriors.
My garden looks at the glow of the sun
that burns everything in front of it,
like a grenade in the middle of a hospital,
They tell me that it has already been seen,
but the nettle did not spring up to set fire
to that unloving world.
Poppies bloom on my blood, that’s
why they are so red.
I do not worship murderers but God.
the fruit we carry within us wants to live,
but the onslaught of usurpers does
not allow him to survive.
Susanna, I water the garden like a huge
world on a hat,
just a flower.
Sadness pours out from under my eyelashes when
I see a cut in the forest, my face is hidden.
Cherry blossoms are born on buds,
they are covered with salt that acts on the soul.
My God, when the world rushes by and
we keep it in a cocoon of whiteness, how to remove
the membrane when killed with a sword.
My rose that adorns and the candle that does not go out,
he will save this world with prayer and love.
