Desert heart

There is no shade to prevent the burning sun from burning the suffering skin of a man who has an open heart.

There is no water to quench the thirst of a man who walks incessantly. There are flowers and stones, there is sky and there are clouds. The rain flees from the desert soil of my being, where the dry roots wait for a drop of hope to make this sand garden green. But it rains, the storm arrives and reaches other more fertile soils, where green is the hope that paints the ground. The desert remains scorching inside me and the sun illuminates the yellow shade of the sand that hides the imaginary rivers that quench man's thirst.