GRIEF FOR OLGA
What is the grief? Maybe, in front of my eyes, a color is the grief.A color that involves, pain that squeezes untill the conquer.
It has woman's hands, a touch that weighs… affirms.
It lies bitter on my mouth like a condemnation.
If I speak, if I don't, you are surprised. Tell me, what do you expect me to have?
Sometimes I cheat myself, like you do to me, and I get a slight smile.
But even cheerful, the grief is there… patient, asleep.
¡Oh, if you heard how it sounds, deep silence that burns!
And I ask you don't to cheat yourself, it's not that cheating my grief.
What is the grief? A flower kept dry, to feel prisoner.
It is to die in exchange for nothing, resign itself to what remains.
It is something I feel the way nobody feel worst wound.
What is the grief? It's a one way ticket to a place without escape.
It is useless to struggle, I'm already a corpse that throbbing grief.
