when i was yours
and the time was not yet born,
nor was the distance,
i was yours, like the poppies on the banks of the rivers,
i covered valleys and hills, the graves of heroes,
when the bees gathered the honey without tasting it,
and the sky was lost in the eyes of an infant,
i was yours and the words were not born yet,
and the verses were free, swaying in the heat of the desert,
and tasted the sand water,
when i was yours i was the poetry of the storm and
fire, only
the hot blood
does not know how to burn without the tears of heaven
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