Give me happy news,
Of a hundred drowned men,
In the happiest tides of ocean.
Of the men hanging to your thousand,
Hairs, below your feet and flying like kites,
In the blue sky, with colorful wings.
O victory, ever since you left my door step;
Like a smoked chimney or a hearth with ash.
Like the cold smell of a watery morning,
An evening that has turned away her face,
From the red color of horizon, and the night,
Eating up the day's light and stars opening doors.
From a nightmarish dream that has clasped,
Hands to celebrate and drunk itself on the dew.
O victory! The impostor, if I could only treat you,
Like defeat, like nothing and like being itself.
From my hands would then fly kisses,
Like flowers, bright and sweet, of multiple hues.
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