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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.