Earth

The earth is moving below your steps,
succinctly traveling.
There is no hurry for sands or stones,
having all the eternity.

Even though you throw them
steal and manipulate,
they always see the coming through of the history.
In the existence of such mute sound

The earth yells despite being quiet.
And in its throat, with brief nuisance,
can be felt the howling that to tear apart you wanted.
But even so. Silence.
/

The desert falls silent within its vision.
To the coast and sea he thanks for the humid breeze brought.
/

In the lands that from night to day although changing scene
passersby go,
some animal too,
some free, others with chant,

the sand is always pacing their lives;
the steps above not so.
Because her history is hers alone.
And storms are enough.

a k v

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