Even less, for an old wolf
accustomed to kill what will be food,
to wander alone in the desert,
to be a dune,
and to make oblivion the feeling...

This flight where I do not find myself,
as an allegory
To the one who wants to get there first;

"The way is for beasts,
the footsteps are man's
and his dusty trail"

Aimless and aimless,
no one knows where it leads

"Who will get the credit?
The one who writes the most,
or the one who says what he really feels,
through a text"

It's true, that day
I sent a message in the bottle,
I threw it with all my might
into the raging ocean

That was some time ago,
I still hear the hermit echoing,
words,
written in a quiet fist:

"It's all over"
If this sea is of sorrows,
I entrust this sorrow to you
and may its cry
drown my silence...

And the immensity cries for me
sometimes I feel like dying,
how many messages the castaway must send
for someone to feel
what I feel...