the images of the past
sometimes project themselves in the screen
of our minds
rivers where children bathe freely
boats that row to the crystal blue sea
green mountains to climb
we are amazed by said wondrous views
and the joys of our voices
reverberate the atmosphere
echoing on the corners of our memories
we shut the journey and we take hold of the present.
the grip now is too hard
because the winds are too strong and we are afraid
that to the past we will be forever blown
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem