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I no longer want to know of sadness,
of weeping and sorrow,
the streets cry out their sadness,
full of so many snails.
I no longer want to see hungry children,
their eyes full of dreams,
glances looking for breath,
a world without small verses.
Old people carrying their history,
in hands trembling with longing,
memories of times of glory,
today they ache in their scales.
I no longer want the echo of laments,
the wind whispers in solitude,
hands that cry out, feelings,
a song for dignity.
I would like a golden dawn,
in fields of flowery smiles,
where love is the legacy,
and hopes are not forgotten.