You can’t spend your life waiting for the thunder,
Waiting with glassy eyes fixed and set in languor,
If you have already seen the lightning in clangor,
Broken light that at fall, with sunder,
breaks everything as with powder.
 
You have already lived the storm,
Soaked in your tears,
You know how to walk underneath
The rain, the pain,
The hunger and despair.
As specter by his grave.
 
You can’t spend your life ploughing dead seas,
Soaring high against the saline eyes of wind,
If you have already seen the ocean scarred,
Tempest of a man’s heart
That longs for someone far.
 
You have already lived the storm,
Soaked in your tears,
You know how to walk underneath
The rain, the pain,
The hunger and despair.
As specter by his grave.
 
(Eternal is the memento,
Lives without memory,
Maybe in tales,
Maybe in stories,
But eternal,
Because one lives forever,
In the tremor of the earth below your feet,
In the weeping of the sky falling on your temple,
In the cold of the verses you read besides a cup of tea.
In the echoes that will travel with you anywhere… and tremble.
 
I will live forever,
For my ink, my legacy and my voice,
For the storms I’ve provoked…
And the ones I have yet to awake.)
 
So keep walking,
Woman, siren, curse, ache,
That you will live a thousand storms
And thunderbolts shall fall
In the sky of a cruel world,
The waiting will destroy you,
But only one thunder will come.