I went to the bakery, a simple task
To buy a loaf, nothing to ask
But life, with its subtle sway
Turns the ordinary into a display

The bread, round, golden, and neat
Waited for me, a silent feat
As if it knew what I didn’t see
That I was searching, though unaware of what it could be

It looked at me with a knowing gaze
Understanding more than I in these days
Too perfect to be just a b...

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There is a silence that is not silence
It is the air that refuses to enter
It is the footsteps that echo in empty corridors
the time that drags, heavy
like a body that no longer feels

Fascism does not come with noise
It comes with the absence of song
with the hand that closes around the throat
and says, "This is not pain. This is order."

But there is a light that insists
A tiny light...

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It was no longer the body I saw
It was the emptiness of its lines
the silence that stretched like an endless night
a night in which beauty is lost
what is cursed
as if beauty were a lie
and the curse, perhaps, a form of love

I saw their gaze, the beautiful and the cursed
not with my eyes, but with absence
Because who feels sees through what’s unsaid
through what dissolves in the words ...

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The silence spreads like mist
over the field that no longer exists.
The earth no longer feels the footsteps,
doesn’t remember the bodies that passed through.

The wind, a distant whisper,
carries unspoken words
and stories lost before they are told.

There is a place where time gives up
on being continuous and dissolves
into fragments of light and shadow.

Nothing is whole,
everythin...

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In the vast plains of time, where the wind is lost
Man, with curious eyes, gazes at the horizon
And in the infinity of the sky, which stretches beyond being
Possibilities blossom, like stars in a distant night

What will become of me, in the paths of chance?
Which road, by the moonlight, will stretch before my step?
I feel in my chest the pulsing desire of a vast dream
But doubt, like fog,...

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Ah, to suffer,
is not just an invisible burden
that we drag through the streets of life.
It is the mark, the scar,
of existence that shapes us.

To suffer is the pain
that teaches us to see the world
with weary eyes,
where reality is not a straight line
but a labyrinth of thorns and hopes.

In the deep silence of the night,
where the moon whispers secrets of pain,
we find the echo of...

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