Don't embark on a desert thousand mules journey with thirst or with tired feet.
Don't enter the forever Hell with hope or a pure soul free of sin.
Don't do it if you don't carry a bottle...of yesterday.

Days then, were drops that you kept in
a bottle you carried into the life’s desert,
where carcases of old illusions
were sacattered here and there,
their bones whitening under
the watchful sun of criticism
and a breeze of malice that’s unfair.
Like with time-old bad wine,
bitterness will settle in its bouqué,
to remain your palate that
the grapes of wrath
wasn’t meant to have a flair,
just a Golgotah kind of vinegar
on your parched lips,
it couldn’t be much more fair.
Bare foot we were born and with
the first second we came up for air,
if we were lucky we would have
a mother offering warm milk
from her breast,
if not…
it will be a bottle of tasteless nothing,
the only thing that in a hurry could spare.
For many a thirsty people,
life is like a barren merciless desert,
where they have nothing but to drink
from a bottle of Yesterdays.