Building Our Life On Words

... we are building that famous tower are we going to use different languages? and so all our efforts would fall? or, are we going to create the round tower? The way to the top of the hill at three o'clock in the afternoon after falling three times in the three scorching suns, the Earth opens, it redens, dries up, dies. Maybe from behind the wall of our tower, two days after, white smoke would rise, stright up, like that in the desert, not of the empty haze... But of the begining of our love... and poetry...