Everything is fragile:
your habit of loving me,
my faith,
the silence and the life that sleeps
inside a train wagon.
Your brief contract,
memory,
this voice thread,
the dreams that cross straits
and this heart
that follows your trail
through the carpet in the room.
Not so fragile
is the thunder from rifles,
the fear
of missing your sweet mornings,
so much pain.
The memory of banks,
the smell of oil at sea,
the steel borders for men,
smoke ones for money,
that controls illusions
and arranges your needs.
I am fragile as glass,
if you miss this date, my love,
if the song gets filled up with oblivion,
if memories leave
and you stop laughing with me.
We might not be heroes
but we are still alive
and in the chrysalis its voice will explode.
And it won't just stand still by the side of the road
and its strong fragility will build the future.
The embrace from the world and its peace is so fragile,
the promises from platforms
and their insistence to last.
Arrogant and strong
is the cry of fear announcing the end
and the night spit to the sky
by so many chimneys,
the snow shots,
the roaring from bayonets.
It might not be so fragile
your habit of loving me,
my faith,
your voice and your memory.
You know ?, perhaps I was wrong.
It might not be indestructible
the thunder from the rifles, the pain,
the bubbles that lock away this cry,
this fear
of knowing myself lost,
of losing you and going mad.
I am fragile as glass,
if you miss this date, my love,
if the song gets filled up with oblivion,
if memories leave
and you stop laughing with me.
We might not be heroes
but we are still alive
and in the chrysalis its voice will explode.
And it won't just stand still by the side of the road
and its strong fragility will build the future.
