I sent doves
After my floods,
None returned.
At the beginning
It was just a single one dove
Worn away
I didn’t pretend that it returned
To me,
Feeble dove
Of my first kisses and dreams.
Then they were two,
And three, and four up to thousand,
I sent gigantic flocks,
Countless hordes of little birds
That traveled through the ether
That was between us,
With the senseless illusion
That would turn
With your olive trees branch
For me.
But unsuccessfully,
Nothing for my heart
Was founded
Under the sun.
You had left,
With the wind until the sea
Taking with you
And your monumental body,
All the olive tree branches
That were in the face
Of this death earth,
For the one that I had to go.
What I will make
With this egocyclical melancholy,
With this cyclopean sadness
With this strong monotony,
That clings to my bowels
That find out my melancholy?
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