In the event that the entire world stops | that with steps of those that neither make noise | his stubborn inertia will cease | time would then yield to silence | countless footprints would have been scattered | traces that would give the impression of making things resonate | even the most fragile | with a subtle movement | But the footprints remain | inert and inaudible | until dissolved | and the assumption of pause is simply impossible | It is there where things inhabit | those that never say | where the propagating sound wanders | without something ever perceiving it | in a complementary dialogue | We are quite the same | similar to the extending frequencies | always until disappear | with unique persistence | even impalpable curves. What here is a bunch of isolated images | who were born dumb | A sudden trip as a whole | so fortuitous by force of trying | the absence of noise | the materialization of that silence.