I write

Do you know how to make poems
With the sons of the downpours?
Vertically you pull them
And you'll moor them in the arms of the trees
These days
The poem is hurt from neglect
He bleeds from the drops of silence

Do you know that the sun
Also folds in our voices?

To live is to write
To write is to draw
With the thrill of words
I, as soon as I write to bring down
Dreams clinging to my eyelids
To invite my expectations to go around
Hope
In a burst of fire

I write to learn how to ride
The waves of life
Clearing the heart
For it is in the heart
Let hope take off
I write to give flesh to thoughts
Smearing the imagination of gunite
Reality

I write to give dreams
Soft colors of dawn
To seize the certainty of tomorrow
I write to feign
Horizons thresholds
Loneliness
And taste freedom
From the moment in the clamor
Thick ink
I write for the outbreak
Walls of drunken absences
Memories

To fool the crazy waltz
Death and misery
I write to convulse dreams
Extracting them from gasoline
And to adorn the face of existence

I write the earth in a universal hymn
No slang
A myriad of skin colors
But the same soul color

I write to catch
The impulses of daydreaming
To erase the weather
Wars
Fear
And this hunger to live
Who gnaws at us

I write to be satisfied
From the silence of the riot
Stars
To manipulate the train of time
In a timed game
Word
I write words to arm myself
Words to protest me