A CRY FOR FREEDOM © 2008

I do not doubt that others can be happy,

On a path of ascent and glory,

I, however, wander among the unhappy vagabonds,

In search of the best face for my story.

I no longer criticize the different ways of others,

Who flaunt their wealth as a trophy,

I live poorly, because I want to demystify the sighs

Of madness to become a rare specimen in a museum.

No, I am not mad; others are,

In obedience to a repetitive method,

Considering themselves lords, they pay it off,

With high interest in a cumulative cycle.

I, who have several souls laughing within me,

Which could well share the debts among the uncles,

Let alone a life to meet

The deadlines set in the bank contracts.

Stop contributing to others' coffers,

Your wealth needs to be balanced,

To face an emergency without delay,

Which usually arises for the most needy.

What is wealth but an illusion,

Sold as a trophy of conquest?

While I, without gold, without distinction,

Seek the essence that the world endures.

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