In the hollow of our hands a few grains of warm sand

To those who, for me, baked the bread, heated the water, found the way, sang, laughed, wept sometimes, when the warmth of the wood fire loosened buried sorrows and the flames caressed pearls of crystal deep in their dark eyes

To those who took my hand and said "come, it's this way"; to all those who opened to me the doors of their houses, their tents, their huts...; to all those who lit the stars to light my way

To those who know why, on certain evenings, I go alone onto the dune

To those who heal their wounds with a handful of warm sand

To those who forget their burden to carry mine

To those who taught me respect tolerance modesty

Silence and poetry

Thank you