My Steps..

Since all my steps are audience of my past,

a past damasked by relevant joys, pain, growth

and overloaded with treasure and souvenirs.

Every new step arrives out of all steps taken,

My face presents my history,

my brown eyes are jewels I cannot pawn.

I am the map of the campaign,

each ancestor has his flag,

The taste of individual beauty born of a collective effort,

every day my soul claps its hands, and sings,

consumed by the joy of a rich heritage

and all days are better than all yesterdays.

Other poems-on-life