MY HOPE GROWS

I am a cry within your conscience,
a melody from the heavenly prelude.
I am your childhood, hidden
in the lifeless attic of the world.

When there is light in your story,
you show me the radiance of your trails,
and when the night reigns,
you conceal the destiny of your paths.

Today your spring is no longer found
within the serenity of beauty;
it is the well of fear,
a spiral that drowns and condemns you.

You seek happiness
in women of beguiling flesh,
yet their festive laughter
is the rattle of a venomous serpent.

You cast aside your books,
they seemed outdated burdens on your path;
all at once you discovered
the science of living without restraint.

The current drags you onward,
the river that turns man into a crowd,
and, cut off from his spirit,
he delights in shallow pleasures.

They grant you the freedom
to deny your roots, to be rebellious;
you are only one among many,
do not believe you are free and different.

You shatter ancient molds,
temples of truth and experience,
yet your free will is imprisoned
behind bars disguised as open doors.

I have felt upon your brow
the frost of aborted dreams,
born from fruitless striving
after swift and worldly success.

The glitter of money,
imposed as the god of this planet,
blinds you, enslaves you
with cravings for power and wealth.

Yet still within you burns
the flame of the divine fire;
there is light in your eyes
that no miserly world can extinguish.

My hope grows stronger
when, upon seeing me, you avoid my presence;
you are dissatisfied —
the child's voice still lives within your conscience.

I am the living image
of the beautiful ideals of your childhood;
when I stand beside you,
the feathers of your wings begin to stir.

I know that you shall return
to the only truth, the highest good,
to your cradle song,
to the sacred murmur of the universe.

Emma-Margarita R. A.-Valdés

Traductora: Vekas Rodica

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