Aspiring white or gold

Aspiring white or gold

I discover in the strict hands.

I curse the future. Back

to me a figurative face deceives.

A tear of wonder among the grass

stares at a sad dust cloud,

covering the songs in the forest,

torn apart by sharp darkness.

Peninsular hopes,

stretched out gloomy hands

towards centrifugal oceans,

biting a child with love.

That's why I whispered to the boatman

the color of your eyes.

I wander sickly. And I wander

lost in kindness and dreams.

I wait in the trembling room

long ago. Sorrowfully desired.

Come back! Poems, after tea,

instead of memories, I will give you.