The old pilgrim climbs the stairs of the compassion,
it leaves behind the cross, backpack and your old cane,
to enter the Hidden City
and recover the true friendship.
In the night; exhausted, lost,
slaps their invisible hands,
frightens her fear, alarm;
his soul exhausted sounds on the bed
that rotates and fleet,
he calls them.
In the day; despaired, solitary,
sees the radiance of their flowers,
clouds of iron and fire.
After the horror of the constant shadowy cities
the radiance of his white light
prodigious in their hands.
You've got a house,
Leave it already.