the hours bloom in the ebb of flowers
these bones are branches of a thought without signature
who thinks for my blood, my soles or hands
the hands feel to fill up the void of thoughts
who listens to the rhythms of life
who cares to know the decay of truth the reality of feelings
the ghetto of the mind breaks the world into unvindicated stories
we jump into the sky as if into a revolution
we traverse our nature from one end to the other

let's mix the unknown of our thoughts
let's  dequantify, step out of our center
a disputed sky is carrying its weight
who is going to...
fill the torture chambers with the echo of dreams
let poetry vindicate all tears
look brutality in the eye, thought's fermentation
we see the world through our wounds
the magnitude of being alive cancels sunsets
history recycles uncertainty, our necessary hands

we strive to redeem the hiatus of colours