Between the lines of what's own and what's not,
unknown on some road, the wind howls a calling.
The barefoot burns in the heat of the sand under,
the flakes of the snow embrace the cold in me.

In the shades of black and white some live and die,
the shades of my life too vibrant to fade.
In the folds of my memory, the water flows;
stopping at no track, onward; the journey goes.