As my hair grows grey
As i age like wine
And my heart grows vine
My mouth speaks of history
The past and my empathy
Will cry with melancholy
Will my mind write poetry?
Or will it grow in poverty
Will my feet crush the patriarchy?
Or will my arms hug all the mothers that raised me,

Oh, what an irony!
There is to be in peace
When vultures want nothing but to feast
I cant be confined inside these walls
I was born to be one with the wind,
Where there is no beginning or end

As the nights grows dark
My inside’s naked
When my heart gives out a yawn
When my soul is forsaken
Then I will be reborn
Only then i will rejoice