WE ARE THE CLOUD MASKED OF BODY

When I enter in the cemeteries

I see how useless they are the fights,

What you have or what you possess.

We are powder, earth and nothing.

We are the masked cloud

Of the body.

The anguish of the exaggerating ownership

Everything is dispersed in that hermitage:

There finish the envy, hates, hopes.

There everything returns to the silence,

There they rest the disenchanting

Of a life done of nothing.

(In this prayer we remember that we are nothing in this world and as they are useless the wars for the exaggerating ownership of all that belongs to all. The Cemetery reminds us, frigidly, What we are)

THE END OF THE TRIP

My Lady

I feel Your fluid.

The Earth doesn't have limits.

You are my soul

That flies over the horizon.

In Your lap

They let my anxieties.

It is finishing the trip

And in this soft, calm and tender image

Of Virgen Mother

All forget the laments,

I bless the life

And I pray Your Spirit.

(In this prayer we thank the Virgin for having aided us, after all the appeals and relieves.)