I tell you, even rocks crack,
and not because of age.
For years they lie on their backs
in the heat and in the cold,
so many years,
it almost seems peaceful.
They don’t move, so the cracks stay hidden.
A kind of pride.
Years pass over them waiting.
Whoever is going to shatter them.,
hasn’t come yet
And so the moss flourishes, the seaweed
whips around,
the sea pushes through and rolls back –
the rocks seem motionless.
Till a little seal come to rub against them,
comes and goes away.
And suddenly the rock had an open wound.
I told you, when rocks break, it happens by surprise.
And people, too.
