A multitude grass was situated in Timbao
Where we traced a silent vigil
Through familiar time and space,
Flanked by wet soil trails.

In a hut we devoured pages
Of this arcane red book,
I see new pictures in your mind's eyes
As you pinch your snoozes and winks.

"When will the farmer sow in this land?"
Later I asked,
Under damp trees and above tanned leaves
You just shrugged both your shoulders.

We walked and walked
Until our limbs weaken,
Slowly our feet guides us to the path
Leading to our struggle for freedom.

At night I bid farewell
With hope of the farmer's return,
You take with you a wise provision
Known without knowing how you know.

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