He laid in the dirt and they looked exactly alike.

One flesh returning to where it lived,
Used to be the talk of where he’s from,
Loved by all; the stay and leave,
A realization hit,
That this finely-built boastful heap
Is a monument of sand.

When the wind blows on a house
When the rain beats on it
It falls, Santos.
Because falling, is exactly what this sand does.

He laid in the dirt and they looked exactly alike.
Colours of defeat painted on the two alike.
Down and trodden though not closen, have become their look-alike.

One day!
Words spoken fell on dirt’s ears
When the wind blew this time
Dirt rose.
Like soft flower petals in the wind
The natural colours of change
Something was different about this flesh.
It was lighter.
It was brighter.
It was beautiful.

And this time when it fell,

He laid in the dirt, and they didn’t look exactly alike.

ucTRUTH
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