Under the faint neon light, shadows of people
pass by. It’s raining, and the street is sleepy and
deserted, while the wind refuses to bring me
a message from you now.
I keep waiting for you with an imperceptible
anguish, just as spring awaits the return of a
migratory bird from a long journey.
Time drags on. The air clings to me with a sense
of emptiness; the roads seem abandoned, and
my soul is a mixture of rain and tears.
My heart keeps calling you, but you do not
answer. I stand still. Life is also this instant:
waiting for you restively, on my shoulders,
a jacket of sadness.