Let´s find new chalk
for the spring coming,
burning ideas,
more wood, please.

Let´s make doves fly.

We are lonely
next to the path
to get a sight
of that huge Christ image.
Stern stone gaze
towards that forgotten margin
of the city,
where hard-boiled kids
keep their hearts locked,
pretending to be something
that cannot possibly be.

Is it a blessing those open arms?

The north wind breaks on the hills
and wistles notes hard to swallow
for the pure ears of those
who can´t smile
and throw stones.

Old chalk dust,
Where is the wood?

It is still cold in spring.

Wood keeps burning
but it´s no use.

Luis Gil de la Puente

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/7-burning-burning-burnt/