REFLECTIONS © 2011

The poet walks naked, striped of everything, without masks or veils,

He offered all his poems to humanity,

Poured his soul into eternal words,

And no one knew how to embrace his truth.

Each verse was a piece of his being,

A confession of love, pain, and hope,

But the world, distracted, passed by,

Leaving him alone, wrapped in silence and memory.

He gave everything, hiding nothing,

But those who read him did not understand the weight,

Of a soul that, in the lines, suffered,

Waiting for a hug, a gesture, a joy.

Now, the poet walks naked,

Through the empty streets of indifference,

Still dreaming that, one day, someone

Will welcome him in his essence.

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