There are despondent mornings of days cunning
as the cancer which interfere in the chinks of the soul,
split short of sharp words and of stabs.
Feel again these faults and these wounds by cherishing your soul.
Reconstruct your sphere with a honey of tenderness,
use the poetry and the Amur,
the morning sun, the blue of the sky tinged with silk,
Be soft with you, Woman.
Do not believe what say the rough voices of the Child-men.
Do not believe these warriors disguised as knights.
Get closer to the Jester.
He, knows the poetry of the Amur, the jokes which make you smile.
And if nobody can caress you, caress your heart of the light of your lips which half-open.
And if nobody sees that you are beautiful look in the mirror, you will see the Beauty there.
And if nobody sees that you exist it's not important.
In your Realm, you are Princess....My sister writing
Woman in the women's multitude,
Wearing the women's flag in her broken heart...
Sister of all sisters of the world
who never see the light
at the end of the tunnel,
Human being digging her life
as digging a grave...
Where is the bliss that she deserve,
as much she's been carrying with courage and self-denial
her part of the mankind's destiny...
Courage, sisters, courage my little sister...
Your suffering is your light
for few you free yourself from the men's weakness
Your quest will success for few you rebuild your realm...
Coz in the second level of life's flowing,
Men are the ignoramus...
And women the tomorrow's hopeness...