sábado, 23 de marzo de 2013

The stairs. A poem.


The stairs

The old pilgrim climbs the stairs 
of the compassion,
it leaves behind the cross, 
backpack, and your old cane,
to enter the Hidden City
and recover the true friendship.

In the night; exhausted, lost,
slaps their invisible hands,
frightens  her fear, alarm;
his soul exhausted sounds on the bed
that rotates and fleet,
he calls them.

In the day; despaired, solitary,
sees the radiance of their flowers,
clouds of iron and fire.
After the horror of the constant 
shadowy cities
the radiance of his white light
prodigious in their hands.

You've returned home,
old friend;
pilgrim.
Leave it already.


Un poema de mi libro Secreto canto de las luciérnagas.