BULLET TRAIN !
He moves away audacious, fleeting fugitive.
Six hundred kilometres in an hour.
Like silver bullet in high arrogance
He is symbol of an era that worships him.
The metallic railways he devours.
He is a like a furtive harquebus.
Modern, costly and ostensive,
Provokes admiration, exclusive
I do not discuss its esthetical elegance
Is a matter of crucial importance
That we discuss its utility
Don’t permit that because of its futility
We finish calling to the ambulance
And at the end consider him a murderer
Relentlessly… acid rain….
is falling continuously…
(It had been rain some day).
Street….Never lonely, shadows and shows,
So, so…shady shows, shadowy streets.
Muddy human souls, cruel crowds, empty bowls, hands,
Smoke and fuel that provoke wars.
Smokes of glory, empty of principles.
A hollow, a show, a shadow and a bare plate.
Empty of glory, fin secular hands.
Drugs and scare, violet violence
On violet dreams.
Abrupt, interrupt, disrupt, sudden, rushed,
a hundred feet insect falls under a car….
Tongue on Tango. Argot of the dirty city,
The city of the dirty money. A dirty angel…
There’s a muddy injure in his small hand.
Scuff, ouch, it hurts, a pain restrains me.
Why me? No bread, no brotherhood, no breath…
In the middle of the muddy rubbish,
Only dreams of glory.
In the muddy city in an empty world,
I am the child, the baby,
Little ant went through the grass,
with lot of hope and little ass.
She carried an enormous leaf
over her little, little back.
What a surprise she had...
when the big luggage fell to floor.
What a nice gesture I recognize
when she instantly recovered
her green lunch.
Because she didn´t hesitate
when she had to get to work.
So we must be like little friendly ant.
We must not care about be tired.
We need to be like this small creature
and not reject the hardest work.
THE FABLE OF THE VIOLET AND THE ROSE
A humble violet was blossoming
Hiding her lovely face from human eyes.
She was afraid to show her colors naive
And so, let her head fall down under the leaves.
Near to her, Mrs. Rose felt proud of her own magnificence
She laughed at her friend’s modesty as if it were timidity, a nonsense.
The rose was full of pride and repeated
“ I’m the best one in the flowery city”
“No one can defeat my proverbial beauty”
“Human eyes, look in my direction! You will be charmed”
The gardener listened
to the rose’s exaltation
And came closer to admire her perfection
He removed her out
To decorate the house.
On a flowery pot far from the sun.
Now the garden has not roses
It is never good to call attention in extreme
It’s better to be humble without loosing self-esteem.