WHERE IS THE HOPE IN YOUR GAZE?

I hate the infernal noise that deafens you.
I hate the danger lurking in every night.
I hate the gloomy landscape
disguised with music and colors.
I hate the uncultivated crowd, that mass
without freedom, without soul, without mind.
I hate the imposed fashion, that marketplace
that turns you into a puppet.

Where is your untouchable independence?
Where is the hope in your gaze?
Where is your nest?
Where is the yearning that once stirred you?

You are malleable clay,
a little marionette, a puppet,
a madman or an automaton
lost within a world devoid of values;
a vassal
of social farce, of falsehood;
a mere figure
in a despotic and self-destructive catalogue.

I feel myself dying
at the edge of the grave that awaits you.
My blood burns with fever,
I am consumed by helplessness, hatred, and rage.
It wounds
your root clinging to my vigil.
It cries out,
a ripened foreboding of agony.

Set yourself free, beloved son!
Free yourself from evil, from that tributary
that corrupts both your body and spirit
and drives you toward death! 

Emma-Margarita R. A.-Valdés

Traductora: Vekas Rodica

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