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Quiet

Listening to sounds of dead nature

Alone, tied to dry blanches

That dilacerate my body and my soul

At blast of unceasing wind

That knocks down with more tragic

The running blood all over my body

Shed blood clentchly too many teardrops

At every blood drop that falls

The pain of a broken body

At shed tear drop

The suffering of a wasted dream

I will softly lay on my tomb

Feeling the stone coldness freezing my back

Falling on a deep sleep

Silencing the clamor of my death

Eternally dreaming in peace on my grave

Expecting only from this dream

Will not wake up any more