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2009-01-09 | |
When the rays of the sun look for my face
I feel you holding me.
And so you come, tempestuously,
Sometimes on a ray, sometimes on a sound wave,
Mostly on everything I touch.
How can I know the art of forgetting you,
When my soul constantly opens
The locked doors of the past?
In the morning, I hold the prayer book,
And I ask from the sky the light for the soul.
The moments pass working, and late,
When the rays of the moon look for my face
I feel you holding me...
Night by night, I search for shelter,
Shivered by dreams,
Torturing myself, summoning sleep,
Counting from one to...
And arithmetic, in the end,
Killing the dreams...
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