What are we?


What are we, but little children’s eyes?

Always looking forward,

No matter how much we think we are affected by our pasts

Hoping . . .

Dreaming . . .

Receiving future events with much surrender

Or perceiving them, rather

We do not know for sure.


What are we, but little hearts?

Waiting for tomorrow,

Wondering what it will bring us

Sunshine or rain?


or perhaps once again, pain?


What are we, but hungry souls?

Deceived by the blackness that surrounds us

Yet, still looking for that bright white light

Even if it is somewhere around the far-fetched horizon

Which we sometimes cannot see, but insist to imagine

Fighting . . .

Enduring . . .

Trying, and trying to make it through

To raise our heads up high

To allow that light to shine in

To let our smiles, no matter how small, win


What are we, but specks of dust?

In this tornado we call a life

Twisting and turning . . .

Howling . . .

Rising and falling,

And rising and falling again. . .

Only to survive

And to enjoy the little things throughout the years

For it is those little things that make us who we are…

A few smiles here and there

Good old friends

Heart to heart conversations


True fears



And some craziness to top it all

Have a crazy, yet blessed 2016 . . .

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