Hour after hour, day after day, between heaven and earth, which remain eternal sentinels, like a torrent plunging over a cliff, life passes by. Restore the flower’s fragrance after it has withered, from the waves that kiss the shore and, one after another, expire as they kiss it. Gather the whispers, the lamentations, and engrave their harmony on bronze plates. Times gone by, tears and laughter, dark torments, sweet lies, where did they leave their trace, where, my soul?





















