LAST CYCLE © 2008
Son of a ray of infinite light,
Reflected in death, in a deep mirror,
The elder heals the wound, the pus,
And sees life pointing more towards the north of the world.
The South, now populated and exhausted,
No longer brings new ambitions,
Its descendant, in silence, yearns for the leap,
Towards the tracks of gold and millions.
There, he dreams of building a brilliant future,
Where his children grow up free, without fears,
Far from the unbelieving and the intolerant,
Who block the natural course of dreamers.
They are the mad ones, with fresh and bold ideas,
Capable of opening fissures in the old ground,
And, unscathed, like voracious infants,
Define the beginning of a great era, in revolution.