“Gallop thinking about the time that passes,
As dizzying as the breath of the wind
That sweeps paths and even thought,
Leaving behind, fog, smoke...
The breath is what brings breath and hugs
The life that goes on charting the way.
time is the clock in the whirlwind
Days, weeks, months, years
Past, present, wishes and plans,
Which were, of course, generated in the nest.
Following the closed curve path,
A strong shiver in the spine;
At the edge of the forest, a strange arsenal
Of stumps, scrawls and chipped stone
By blocking access, delaying the journey,
ghastly fatigue of this gallop
It's leagues ahead and time is rolling
on the cliff of the dying day
In the arms of the night, a cry runs down
In drops that bathe the earth and air.
And when dawn, the sun shines
The stone road that remains to follow.
Without looking back, ahead, there is a future,
In the gray night, the fog remained
In the riverbed of crystal clear water,
The body so fragile bathes thirsty.
Looking up to the blue sky,
trying to reach the horizon line
That weaves the beauty that is born from the source
And it expresses the magnitude of the force of the wind.”
Galloping through time and wind, by Creusa Meira.
