The sky touches the ground,
Softly swiping it with a caresse.
No one is looking at the sky,
Because God is not there anymore.

Everyone is waiting for him to come back:
In the form of luck or Venus.

It smells as if the earth is burning.
The lights of the cars and motorcycles
Are illuminating the earth at night to keep it warm.

Who knows if when the day dies
And the night comes up, life stops?

The earth is crying and screaming in an unbreakable
And outraged noise.

We are all part of the same wandering tribe called by the urgent shouts

Coming from the bowels of the earth

And trying to stop the flowing of his tears.