With these strange branches
in your childhood
you would pick up flowers and butterflies,
discover forms and spaces.
In these sensitive branches
you would keep books and notebooks,
define a thoughtful world;
You would clutch pencils in a vice-like grip,
write love verses,
draw geometrical figures,
some other times meanders, endlessly…
You would mould, subdue the matter,
caress, hug, love, scold…
Today, you sadly look
at the elaborate game of hands;
the palms in which the stars left
their mark...