LOVELESSNESS OF THE EAR OF WHEAT

Mature gravestones reap the barren furrows,
and blindly caress the absent outlines
of the ripened ear of wheat, emotional and defiant,
which, far from its valley, roots itself in reflection.

The veins are broken, heartbeats sigh,
essence is squandered along gloomy pathways,
following the lost traces of a heart laid bare,
digging through a soil hungry for affection.

A suicidal vertigo extinguishes the fireflies
that timidly crawl through sinister passages;
the mind becomes a pit of delirious thoughts
and recalls the falling of magical stars.

Neither selfishness, nor pride, nor jealousy terrifies—
it is only lovelessness that freezes the soul,
constant isolation, like a fatal gust
against a motionless wall with an exposed chest.

When the stalk is broken and the springs long for
tears never foretold by the eyelids,
it will return from the air to familiar places,
to primal warmth, to guilty abandonment.

When foliage grows over the ruins of the fiefdom
and awakens the conscious being of eternal butterflies,
it will cross the distance, its memory crying out,
for time has already harvested its green valley.

Emma-Margarita R. A.-Valdés

Traductora: Vekas Rodica

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