First of May

First of May. In a few days, this poor kid, whose life labors in the shadow of a grim past, shall celebrate with the universe the recalling of a birth tainted with deceit, jealousy and vengeance. It’s all up to him now to ring the bell of hope and forgiveness and sketch a new life and add colors of happiness that is yet to come.

When I was small, and Christmas trees were tall,
we used to love while others used to play.

First of May. It’s Labor Day in the country. A holiday without the holiday. And this poor kid, whose ideals are enslaved by the hands of capitalist dictators, shall soon bear witness the beginning of a life free from the poisonous corporate tongue. The eyes of  successful people — their smiles — conceal and tell a different story.

The apple tree that grew for you and me,
I watched the apples falling one by one.

First of May. May the dark clouds of memories no longer weigh in the heart and mind of this poor kid whose glum contentment characterizes his frivolous life — but which carries a peaceful symphony in solitude and a cup of tea. 

When I was small, and Christmas trees were tall,
do do do do do do do do do.

First of May. A timeless song dedicated to this poor kid whose soul the breezing wind blows to the place where the person he always were is waiting.

Bee Gees. First of May.