Kneel down and pray.
No. Sail,
sail on your tears.
Sailor:
tears,
tears,
tears...
the cloud... the river…
the sea.
Let me weave not
handkerchiefs
but sails.
Let no one comfort me,
don’t let them wipe away
my tears,
don’t let them dry up the
river on me.
I cry so that the sea
will not die,
my father the sea, the
sea
that breaks in the two
beaches,
in the two doors without
hinges of the world,
with the same old bitter
taste
of my tears.
I am the navigator and
the path,
the boat and the water…
and the last harbour of
the route.
And over there,
beyond the sea…
at the end of my tears
is the island that the
navigator searches for.
From Ganarás la luz
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