The young grass is stinging my feet
That enjoy the spontaneous ground
Like small children with no doubts.
They move with the notes
Of crickets and beetles,
Of dark butterflies with big eyes,
And make a personal rhythm
I can only feel.
Multi-tasking
I sit in this train
Fruit of mechanics and engineering
But today Full of eccentric lifestyles and meaningful missions.
I am Searching through the window mine.
The wild and the human concrete
unroll with regularity building expectations
And suspense for the ending
That has not been written yet.
