No. 98

Let us sing the hymns of its mother tongue, so that our songs may find their sound.

Let us dilute the colors that weigh the soul, for death is the ignorance of life, reverberating the moans of a tomb, silenced and immutable.

It is a boundless breath, forever adrift, immortalized by the everlasting sea of our mother's womb.

Let us echo through the eons, beyond the grasps of space and time.

Let us sing symphonies at last, so that it too may pass.