Now, my passion is only for deserts.

There,

desperately searching for water

my roots went down painfully

in the sand’s veins.

Although there was no wet soil to nourish,

I knew they would sprout there.

There, 

the artist inside me was born,

when the cacti thorns scarred me.

I dipped my fingertips in the blood

and painted my first picture in the burning sand.

There, 

when I sat alone in my dream,

a paradise was born, blooming with love.

When the hot wind blew trembling cacti,

my silence thickened with darkness.

Convinced the storm would never end, 

my new wings sprouted, singing melodies.

I no longer search for rivers, seas, or the sky.

Now, my journey is looking for

an oasis in the desert.

There, 

Let my dark tell the stories

that light didn’t share.