The grandfather in the square
had never left
far from the meadow
because he knew that there
was his history still living.
He didn’t say much
he was looking at the present with passion
as if he was waiting for the future.
It didn’t matter
if he would live or not.
But he wanted for his
people to live, who where once
the pioneers of just
when nothing existed
for populace that was dying
inside the hunger
and society’s oblivion.