Asking myself a thousand questions
that have no answers,
I go like a wounded servant,
carrying the weight on my eyelashes.
Leaving, in the shadows
the shreds of failure,
that drag mute tears
along forgotten paths.
The wind blows, murmurs,
and my voice is a winged echo,
the truth is entangled,
and in its cruel dance,
I find no peace, only chains.
Let me be the river
that seeks a channel on its journey,
though the current drags it
through landscapes of misery.
