My dream notes manuscripts, trivial codes, it traces roads
with threads of barriers, obstacles, conditions.
My life is staged on a theatre of illusions,
on stages of pantomimes, gestures, temporal fictions,
it moves on universal plays and scripts,
and walks in the childhood gardens with amazing,
longed-for, disenchanted rides.
Memory grows uninhibited, it boldly magnetizes the mind,
insinuates itself innocently, in dreams it generates
purple sparks, in the eyes crashing with memories,
like benign scars that cure the ailments of the soul.
Memory regenerates moves and actions,
lights of the desolate scenes, invigorates the muscles,
glides over the shaded lands of the fearless youth,
on the dry land of maturity it heals the sordid sadness.
The eyes open winking, the heart sails
on the Giants sea, on the millennial rock it assists
to immutable scenarios of timeless wonders.
Save us Jesus from barbarism, guide our faltering steps
to the light, turn our thoughts into a heavenly glimpse
and our life into a dazzling prelude to eternity.