Our past gives us the identity,
It is a rope between who we are
And who should we be.
Now, it is hard to be real
It is easier to imitate.

Still, sometimes we find
A small part of humanity,
Lost in insanity,
Because we are blind.

And then we know,
How life changes our identity.
We don’t learn very well
The lessons of the life.

Maybe I don’t see
What is a true spirit
But a think I do believe,
Is that, beside everything
We are somebody
And a life is always a trace.


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