our fellows are selfish ones
they only keep their words for themselves
read them aloud
in front of mirrors and then they close their books
and sleep
without telling you if you can have them
and feel
the softness of their syllables
they only keep their words for themselves
read them aloud
in front of mirrors and then they close their books
and sleep
without telling you if you can have them
and feel
the softness of their syllables
they want the moon at night to be only by their windows
and they travel alone taking nothing of our faces and scents
our fellows are the most selfish ones
and they are not interested about our names
they only have theirs
carved in those walls of skies
i am glad i am not like any of them
i do not read and i do not close my books
i leave the pages open by the window
and i tell the moon to just pass me by
the rain is happy for me
i have allied myself with the damp and cold
and so my hands speak
for myself: the lines map for me.
and they travel alone taking nothing of our faces and scents
our fellows are the most selfish ones
and they are not interested about our names
they only have theirs
carved in those walls of skies
i am glad i am not like any of them
i do not read and i do not close my books
i leave the pages open by the window
and i tell the moon to just pass me by
the rain is happy for me
i have allied myself with the damp and cold
and so my hands speak
for myself: the lines map for me.
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