When the omnipresent echo resounded in the mountains
of wisdom?
When was it that the man stopped feeling the embrace of the wind
on the skin of his back?
When was the last time you presented yourself to the world with your face of stone, you sang to the spirits, let the water run through your cracks, and with the drops that fell from the tips of your fingers, you tore the lands that now they cry submerged under fear?
Woe to those times when we would still be brothers, we would open our eyes to greet the morning.
@d-pend, we would say, and we would still be land and sky
before the look of nature.