Alicia, where is your flower traces,
I'm looking for!
This is a hand-shaking of Francisco de Goya looking for you,
a witness of my canvas is increasingly blurred,
with chest tightness, cough and chronic bronchitis,
I was tired of running from the palace of marble,
I am a living witness,
will not forget sparkly of my eyes,
of a wild flower tales of a dream song of the mother,
and witness just sit in a chair,
ran through the crowd,
standing on the banks of the river, dedicated to the shaky weather,
should heart be imprisoned by the words?
(2009)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem