in the new sounds of tropical rains.
The smell of new moisture in the dust
How we longed that it will not go away again.
Yet somewhere,
someone destroys our air
with corpse left to dry.
It were dried as if preserved
as a monument that we are all brothers.
Love is the greatest gift.
Let’s love when the dusty sun scorches
When the rain drops hit our lips and runs along our chins.
« return.