BIRTH OF TEARS AND HOPE

Son, tearing wound of the aching heartbeat,
your flesh of my flesh, now far away,
torments the furrows of my mind,
floods me with mortal melancholy,
voice of burning blood,
sad swan song in agony.

The fierce north wind
ravages you, drives you to madness,
and your white dove grows faint
within the speechless tower without a bell,
while night falls within me
behind the shattered glass of your window.

A duel of love and death,
a mother's womb that calls for you,
a crimson waterfall flowing lifelessly,
vital pulse spilling like a river,
liquid cradle poured into the sea,
fiery blood inflamed by your absence.

My warm nostalgia turns to weeping;
the hard and frozen frost of my eyes
slips down to my breast, and I nourish
the pitiful remnants
of your childish charm,
which are sublimated in my glowing embers.

I am an animal cry from a broken artery,
a womb of abandonment,
your essential fountain from which springs
a mire condemned to dryness.
Will you become joyful foam upon the distant
shore of truth?

A birth of kisses, tears, and lament,
a birth of beatific hope,
a birth from your dawn-lit gaze,
image and likeness
of a loving and moved God
who, through His noble covenant,
will give meaning to your idyllic path.

Emma-Margarita R. A.-Valdés

Traductora: Vekas Rodica

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