I knew my grandparents by how they cultivated their land
In their form of fingers interrelating
While the line of life
Had to start in the east
They woke up with the crown of sun every morning.
As a borderline between what belonged to them
And the indifference for what did not
Were the graceful oak trees
Equal with the age’s roughness
That just to bother
Threw its shade in the neighbour’s garden
Who my grandpa always mentioned
With a little envy
Because his trees gave more fruits.
The adour of sail while it was cultivated
I remember it even today… reminds me of childhood
Generations are raised by memories!
Ah, I haven’t forgotten the offenses of my grandparents
Their silent curses for those who stole a little grape across
The street (never in their pride touched).
Now that I tread that earth with a bunch of dreams in my hands
I feel that in it there’s again essence
That time won’t fade away!
Everything has died because of the winter cold
But the amaryllis of the earth inherited a spring that will ever cherish…