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like the wind that caresses the cheek or blows tiles from a roof

stronger than the tree
rooted in the generations
it doesn’t move
and its branches always bear fruit

like an idea
that rises anew with each youth who
raises his fist and dreams

yellow petals ripple
and catch your hair
so you close your eyes to

strong like the sun
on your uplifted face
and the cascading water on your back

your fears have nothing compared
with this strength

they are shadows that melt into light


Published in Broadsheets 7/Agenda poetry journal Vol. 42 No. 2

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