Martina

Martina has no in-betweens,
knows remedies for destinies.
She always knocks twice
on the doors she finds along her way.

Martina extends her escape,
doesn't believe in lies,
doesn't hold grudges,
Inside her hearts there's plenty of room
for a little longer.

Martina shows you her guides,
Martina sends you postcards without stamps.
Martina exports her laughter.
Let the breeze fall asleep in her hair.

Martina is a downpour
and under her embrace there are no cracks.
She watches closely the figures that lurk her path
and plays blind.

Martina gives away smiles,
She shows herself made of flour,
she knows she's made of steel.
Descending steps from the sky
and taking your hand
invites you to climb.

Martina is a mirage.
Martina, an abyss of lamentations.
Martina has no reasons.
Martina is the dream
you avoid having.

Martina can be your muse,
Martina is the excuse for craziness.
As she passes, she burns the dunes
and lets the desert rest in peace.

Martina is like a heroine.
Martina gives her opinion even if not asked.
Martina fulfills wishes,
reinvents her beliefs,
hides in her summit.

Martina has no owner
She walks without brakes, without law, nor routine.
Born in my thoughts,
Martina is the small part of me.