Since all my steps are audience of my past,
a past damasked by relevant joys, pain, growth
and overloaded with treasure and souvenirs.
Every new step arrives out of all steps taken,
my face presents my history,
my brown eyes are jewels I cannot pawn.
I am the map of campaign,
each ancestor has his flag,
marking an advance or a retreat.
as I write I look at my five fingers,
each an individual testament,
a story, a loss and a gain, a lesson,
I turn to my palm and trace unequal lines,
of opportunities lost and gained,
of tears of pain and joy,
equal inequality that ends in tenderness,
the tenderness of a mothers footprints of undying love,
the warm impress of a fathers strength even in my first steps.
Every step brings new light,
the taste of individual beauty born of a collective effort,
every day my soul claps its hands, and sings,
consumed by the joy of a rich heritage
and all todays are better then all yesterdays.
