The elytra of the egyptian beetle, copper-colored copper, will cut the air you exhale, like blades of old mills. The little grasshopper will jump on the terra cotta dunes of the desert of ancient Egypt.
Drifting boats will be lost, aimlessly, in the fog of your life. At the bow of your sailboat, adrift, you will dine in the light of the white sails, shedding broken tears, tears drenched in wine of forbidden love.
When you reach the port of Alexandria, you will hear the yellow leaves swaying, burned by the rising sun. Flowers of orange blossom and pink will emerge, in your soft and melodious voice.
You will search the old trunk of memories, embracing your new destiny, drawing ties with your deep roots, with the hidden memory of your egyptian ancestors.
Between sobs, filled with joy and joy, you will refresh your lost memory in the old path of the most self-conscious past. Historical memory of the universal collective unconscious. Memory of the ancestral roots of your original people.
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