It was for my fears for what I've written.
Every time I wrote, I wrote with them.
I fear God, the lack of him and the system.

I fear myself, the others, outside and in the inner.
It was for  my innocence for what I've been bitten.
What if the soul not exist and I am just an item.
I fear the big, the small, the much and the little.

But I don't fear to die, I fear to live,
to live here, like this, live alone, together,
live today expecting tomorrow while I miss yesterday.

I fear the ephemeral, not the eternal.
I fear my bones, my skin and my flesh for being so brittle.

I fear to shine because the fear is not black the fear is white.

Do the orchids feel?
Even when they are plucked to watch over the eternal rest of the souls?
And do the sunflowers lie?
Even when they turn their backs to the sun to watch the flapping of some wings?

And does the wheat weeps?
Even when neither the breezes nor the songs of the birds heed it?
And does the forage prays?
Even when they see the silver of the sickle and scythe dancing?

Are the storms the cry of the earth?
For how much it suffers in the summers.
In the burning afternoons without air.
In the distant oceans.
In the deaths of the autumn.

Is the moon a lover of the mountain?
For it always suckles the hill.
She kisses the cheeks of the streams.
It illuminates the dark paths.
And sings to the strange travelers.

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¿Y las orquideas sienten?

¿Aún cuando las arrancan para velar el descanso eterno de las almas?

¿Y los girasoles mienten?

¿Aún cuando dan la espalda al sol para ver el batir de unas alas?



¿Y el trigo llora?

¿Aún cuando no le hacen caso ni las brisas ni los cantos de las aves?

¿Y los forrajes oran?

¿Aún cuando ven el plata de la hoz y la guadaña bailando al bies?



¿Serán las tormentas el llanto de la tierra?

Pues cuanto sufre en los veranos.

En las tardes ardientes sin aire.

En los oceános lejanos.

En las muertes del otoño.



¿Será la luna amante de la sierra?

Pues siempre amamanta a la colina.

Besa las mejillas de los riachuelos.

Ilumina los caminos oscuros.

Y canta a los viajantes extraños.

De tanto llorar antaño, ya no lloro.
Si ahora quiero llorar no puedo.
De tanto llorar los ojos se me han hecho perlas de sal.
Ya no cae el agua aunque me atormente el duelo.
De tanto llorar no lloro.

De tanto llorar yo ya no lloro.
De tanto llorar con lloros ya no tengo llanto.
De llorar llorando tengo las mejillas blancas como la cal.
La pena no da tregua pero están secos los caños.
Sonrío sin sonrisa y así yo lloro.

---------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------

From crying so much in the past, I don't cry anymore.
If now I want to cry I can't.
From so much crying my eyes have become pearls of salt.
The water no longer falls even though the mourning torments me.
From so much crying I don't cry.

From so much crying I no longer cry.
From so much crying with weeping I no longer weep.
From crying and crying I have cheeks as white as lime.
Sorrow gives no respite but the pipes are dry.
I smile without smiling and so I cry.

Tell me brother, can you see?
Yes, I can see.
And then tell me, what do you see?
I see the fire waves of a red flaming sea.

Tell me brother, do you wish?
Yes, I wish.
And then tell me, what do you wish?
I wish be blind, black dawns and gray eyes.

Tell me brother, are you afraid?
Yes, I am afraid.
And then tell me, what are you afraid of?
I'm afraid of the lady silver moon and of his pearly neonate son.

Tell me brother, do you feel?
Yes, I fiercely feel.
And then tell me, what do you feel?
I feel my black dense blood like tar and the smell of brimstone in my nostril when I kneel.

Tell me brother, do you die?
Yes, we all do it.
So then brother, Am I dying?
Yes, it is categorical, every breath is a second less, a moment left.
Brother, I tell you that die is living.

Who is lucky with the foot of the rabbit?
I could take a train and trip tonight to Paris.
But with no talent and no money I won't.

I could take the writing as an habit.
Not as a job, if I write, I write in Sabbat.
I hate my life, what is not art just bore.

Who is lucky with the foot of the rabbit?
I don't know why I bought it in that store.
The rabbit was not even lucky having four.

There is no more honey.
There is no more milk.
There's just callosities and money.
There's no flag, no stars, no blue and no red and white stripes.
There's just a land that is sick.
If you are a woman you are black.
If you are a child you are black.
If you can't vote you are black.
If your pocket is a 4 hours job but you work 10 hours per day you are the blackest.
If you got money you ain't black no more.
If you can't afford an illness you are black.
If you can't pay your rent you are black.
If you ride the horse you ain't black.
But if you feed that horse you are black.
If you bleed 3 to 5 days a week minimum, you are black.
If you are mexican in the freedom land probably you are black.
If you are poor you are black.
If you're not poor but your collar is blue you are black.
If you're not poor but your collar is white you are black too.
If you are a cop you can't be black or not to be black because you are just a tool and tools have no race.
If you can't be free you are black.
If not being free you got rebellion on your mind, war in your soul and sweat in your heart you are black.
The world ain't black but is rotating black.
Wait for the night and dream with other face, other house, other body, other car, other wife or husband, other kids or no kids, dream with more wealth, better health. Dream with the beach.
Hey fella, dream quickly there is just 2 hours left for the alarm ringing.
Sweet dreams black.

He muerto y soy.
Soy un fantasma.
Un ente astral y veo.
Veo mi cuerpo frío.
En mi boca una nube.
Una nube azul.
Azul de moscas.
Moscas que comen.
Comen almas.
Hoy las moscas morirán de hambre.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////

I've dead and I am.
I am a ghost.
An astral entity and I see.
I see my cold corpse.
Over my mouth a cloud.
A cloud that is blue.
Blue of flies.
Flies that eat.
Eat souls.
Today the flies will die of hunger.