A very sensitive poem that speaks of marks in the soul that sink into disillusionment due to the infertility of the fertilized land.
The voice proclaims that despite so much attempt to mold their work, nothing changes and only observes clumsy attempts that do not meet their expectations. The essence is not in sight, freshness is not present, as it says. However, the abrupt way it ends, reflects a small hope that does not die.
It is the vision of a hopeless God, a God unhappy with the creatures he has created and assumes his fiasco from his own failure, because he himself does not get the light... But, faced with so much frustration, rubber is an option.