Ask the sun why it's so yellow,
and drops gold through my bare arms,
among bunches of white clouds as a
powder of the blue sky above the farms.

Ask why the water had just been pumped
on the fields, thirsty for green, and then
it turns into an embroidered silk skirt
balancing the years of clover's petals again.

Ask my arms why they have opened
to embrace the wind blowing through my hair
and gives to the forests green, silent lungs,
to beat the time that shows us a truth that's rare.

I know, one day our skin will have wrinkles
like the bleached petals, spoiled and faded,
and our youth will disappear between the walls
towards the nightfall with a lot of love invaded.

I know, even our brain will erode one day
like caves sculpted by the water that's thin
and will wipe out the crucial parts of us
to make room for things that are about to begin.

But... although our bodies will decompose,
they will rot right next to each other,
surviving the apocalypse that will convince us:
that our life was not a lie... but a wonder.