You had this way of speaking with the intonation of the voice, calm and thoughtful.
The words you had learned from life, without opening a book, they were scattered at the crow of the cock,
They had taken root, on the vicissitudes of your spirit
The trace of thorn bush like on the cross, cloth of joy many times, a first name chosen or a disappointed choice ;a little like everything seems written.
The path, always this path dotted with grey, and the days the years pass, but can one forget…
There were always a few bills missing to fix our shoes and still the same wall that separates us from a few stretch-out hands.
His glasses were too full, and the glasses empty too fast, silence interrupts with screams exhausts us ; not having one thing so… badly desired.
There was the bite of the night, the fear of having to get out of bed ; and on the anvi lof the days the same awakening. This love too little to receive.
You would have liked to put out the cigarettes, the cigarette butts still smoking thrown to the floor, but you couldn’t do anything.
Those days, those years cast into the wind, so much hope, but yet no expectation today as the days goes bye.
The absence of light and colors that change the face. I can read the sadness of this life ; too quickly run away from its moments that you loved because they were too rare. I Love you Mama.