When I say “future”

I invite you to believe me when I say “future”.
If you don’t trust my word,
believe in the splendor of a gesture;
trust in my body,
believe in my hands
(which are ending).

I invite you to believe me when I say “future”.
If you don’t trust my eyes,
believe in the anguish of a cry;
trust in the land,
believe in the rain,
trust in the sap.

There are twenty thousand good seeds
in the valley since yesterday.
There are remains of desperate people;
there is man and woman.
The irons are already melted,
but there is patience, and more remains.

There is a country of rock,
in ruins, under another country of bread.
There is a mother who walks
shoulder to shoulder with her clan.
The irons are already melted,
but there is patience, and more remains.

There are four children right now
smiling on a beach somewhere.
And in the backroom of a bullet,
a soldier that hasn’t slept.
And that same young girl
shortens her skirt again;
all is important,
from a child to the length of a dress.
The irons are already melted,
but there is patience, and more remains.

I invite you to believe me when I say “future”.