She is hard as rock,
with a look of a thousand storms,
her voice, an echo that provokes
strength in a thousand absent souls.
Under the weight of her courage,
hides her silent tears,
mysteries kept in a journey
that whispers in starry nights.
But in her silences, so deep,
and in the solitude that envelops her,
is fragile like porcelain,
a trace in time that floats.
Longing to be picked up,
like a broken locket,
in arms that give her lime,
where her dreams are sown.
Of rock, her impassive exterior,
but inside, a fire that scorches,
longing for invisible tenderness,
a refuge, a home where she embraces.
She is hard, yes, like the earth,
but in her fragor, a desire burns:
to be the dance that the wind seizes,
to be the love that her soul expands.
