And at the end, what?
what happens to the living when they die?
what happens to the tears when the eyes close?
Where do the stars go when we don't dream?
where the pain of memory goes?
What happens on the myriad greens of foliage
in sun and shadow?
On the deepness of the glade,
a gentle breeze wraps us with the quiet of power
by unifying our silences.

In the heart of time you will find the birds of imagination,
they are emissaries of sacredness,
create something that still does not exist,
unmasking the invinitely inventive life.
The birds of imagination, no doubt or  hesitation, no gravity, no names or religions, no nations,
only journey, journey creative,
one-way flights to unspoken desires.

Darkness at the shut of day,  
broken hearts and silent tears around me
the words are sad,    
the clocks stopped,
but the light from a dead star  will live in infinity,
its rays will continue  to cross the vast starry heavens  
and they will illuminate worlds of miracles.

In our brief life,
so many roads,
so many miracles
and blessings and glories,
but also so many curses and denials,
grief and contempt,
continuous waves on the planetary seas
that come and go,
and they crawl us into the vast heavens,
in that quiet rhythm universe
listen to your heart beat.

Is a cloudy day,
coldly winds blow,
the people hold their breath,
looking from distance their fate,
the fear of the shade cover the earth,
and suddenly from the depths of unborn worlds
a secret language says, the unity is our guide

Our life a dazzling dream and the death a new arrival,
there is no end and never was a begginning.
Thousand centuries will gone and will leave faint signs
in the breaths of time, thousand suns will light up
and will burst and unexpected visitors
will come and will gone,
but something innate in us knows,
we were, we are, and will be forever,
a timeless gentle touch in eternity's face.