Thought different doors
we have arrived.
Of rivers, dunes
and winds.
Elevators, stairs
and projects.
I ran away
from London.
Crying for
my deads.
Not from wars,
barbed wires and dogs.
Uno, dos, tres.
I free your hand girl.
Cinco, seis, siete.
It’s time,
I let you go,
mum.