Fictitious line

Smokes
Of cigarettes and a mug
Full of coffee,
Next
To the fictitious line
Where the eddy
Of words
Leans against
And nods,
Wounded,
To my silence.

Ideals

Snow-covered mountains,
ancient monuments,
a north wind that nods to us,
a thought that flows,
images imbued
with hymns of history,
words on signs
with ideals of geometry.

Illusions

Noiseless wrinkles
On our forehead
The frontiers of history,
Shed oblique glances
At Homer’s verses.
Illusions
Full of guilt
Redeem
Wounded whispers
That became echoes
In lighted caves
Of the fools and the innocent.

The end

The savour of fruits
still remains
in my mouth,
but the bitterness of words
demolishes the clouds
and wrings the snow
counting the pebbles.
But you never told me
why you deceived me,
why with pain
and injustice did you desire
to say that the end
always in tears
is cast to flames.