The one who drunk of wormwood leafs
knows the sweetness of water

The one as I who went through
the bloody war knows the taste of freedom

The one who is ill to him the honey
is bitter

The one who suffers influenza
is unable to smell the flower

Who is the one who shakes
a trembling hand and does not
looks in your eyes

Who is the one who fears himself
to see his face reflected in yours

Who is the one who finds the only friend
the one he sees in the mirror

and

who is the one who on time of departure
swears his loyalty
and celebrates with tears
the moment of separation

who is the one that is unable to learn
from a child the unconsciousness of worry
and
who is the one who distrust the experience
of the senile which sounds as word

who is the one blind standing
as tall poplar shook by winds and
speaks about Liberty

who is the one who wages wars
and
blood- shedding the earth
yet is unable to surrender
to the cry of the child

who is the one who never regrets
for the sins done in each breathtaking
and
who is the one who recites anger
as his best poem with the lack of audience

who reads the wounds of a woman
suffering betrayal as columns in his tablet PC

who is the one who never eat flowers of acacia
by his fear not to become inspired fellow and

who is the one who claims the Manifesto of enmity
in a daylight yet in starry sky and awe-inspiring moonlight
lay siege to the ones who are drunk by Love

who is the one who knits the web and
she-spider he’s not

who is the one who purchases hearts
of 18 years old martyrs to prolong
his life in service of evil
who is the one who dampens his accouterments
in the Jordan river to disregard winter cold
and
save the world

who is the one who never met his father
and
declared war to idolatry and

who is the one who gave women the right
to give birth to Love

who is the one who after each sneeze
transforms in goodness the hexes of hatred

who is the one who swears in the tomb of a mother
and
in the wedding gown of his daughter- bride
just to convince you for his certitude

who is the one who goes naked as the most bitter truth
in the days prior to Doomsday

who is the one who arranges puzzles of bees mysteries
and
hides as his sin the royal jelly he stole

who is the one who bakes gingerbread for dark holidays
and
slaughters a white turkey to feed his glutton

who is the one who doesn’t hear the sound of hammer
and doesn’t see the sweat in goldsmiths forehead

who is the one who arranges jewels in the neck
and
pearls of all shines in e fat belly


wait for me as I want to sing
the song of those who made peace on earth
and
wait for me as I see the bright days to come
I stand in hush as an old cypress
and
have eyes older than bones
Wait for me as
I have a cure Men called
Love- an universal treatment
for the past World for
this Word
and
for the Worlds we all have yet to see.