Trapped in the ropes of the Kanun remained,Pieces of my soul, in the gales, in the storms…Through centuries of shattered dreams,My word remained a hostage to the wounds…
I pay a toll to the ancient tragedies,That bequeathed the black shirt!To dress the light in darkness,For a supposed tradition of manhood!
And I, to the tender roseWant to become a thorn!To embroider rainbows on eyes and dress them in blue,A waterfall on the eyelash to dry up that spring!
At a table of friends I want the word to give voice to the song,To breathe the breath of verdant leaves,To rest on petals of white dreams,In the light of freedom to be rocked by the waves!
