A time will comethe sky will become the pupil of my eye,and the last star will cast its seed into my bodyand your prayer will be left without a sky.In the promised Land the stars will bloomand in the withering of eyes the flowers of breath will fade,and life will tangle in my sweating hairfrom the gasps of pain, washed out by the spilled tears.A time will comewhen you will not know where to turn your eyes,and your prayer in a foreign Sky will go door to doorbegging for alms.On the threshold of regret your knees will give wayand my forgiveness, dissolved in dried tears,will crush your soul in the vice of remorse.The battered prayer will moisten its lipswith the dried tears of the time gone by,and will be afraid to confess to itself,that the forgotten prayer in a foreign Sky,was born anew from that very Sky you once turned your back on.