I am many people at the same time.
I am many versions of the same mold.
I am a lot of few things.
I am a little, sometimes almost nothing, of a lot, although I never know how much.
Am.

All those presences throughout the day,
as the hours go by,
that leave trails of light and dark,
causing confusion among the people.
Sometimes confusion even in myself.
I am all that and at times I am nothing.

But I am.
Always in the same skin
with the same words and within the same verb.

Am.

Nonetheless.
And at the end of the day.

I have searched for peace
around my people
but I can't find it.
Where is Peace?
I can't find your way
buried by war
and my own loneliness.
I have looked for it
in many towns
lacking freedom,
in the death of children
that they will not know her,
in violent favelas,
in city suburbs,
in street fights
where they kill without mercy,
in the poorest countries
where the daily bread
It's only from the Our Father
and hunger reality.
I only know his name
I don't know its truth
baptized by men,
I can't name her
the few who know her
conjugate the verb to love.