enseñanza del silencio
Enseñanza del silencio
Continúa dormida mi madre sobre una estera blanca
Cuando decido abandonarla, irme a alzar el mundo.
No creo que despierte ahora cuando tengo que decirle
"Adiós, madre," con nostalgia casi irremediable.
Sigue acostada, adornada su frente con nardos y espinos.
No creo que mi madre abra los ojos, despierte, beba agua.
Ella nada necesita; mía y pobre, mi madre es muy vieja.
Y los ancianos viven secos, tan cercanos en la paciencia.
"Me voy, madre," le digo cuando estoy en plena salida.
Y no se inmuta, ni abre los ojos dentro de su cielo negro.
La noche remueve la trama de su rostro, huesos y cenizas.
"Madre, escúchame," y me marcho hacia adentro.
Entonces decido callarme, morder así mi propia carne
Y tragar el verdadero polvo de un camino profundo.
Santos López
Los buscadores de agua (2000)
The teaching of the silence
My mother continues to sleep on a white mat
When I decide to abandon her, to go and boost the world.
I do not think she will wake up now when I have to say
"Goodbye, mother," with nearly hopeless nostalgia.
She keeps lying down, her forehead adorned with lilies and thorns.
I do not think my mother will open her eyes, wake up, drink water.
She needs nothing; mine and poor, my mother is very old.
And the elderly live dry, so close in patience.
"I am leaving, mother," I say to her when I reach the exit.
And she does not move, or opens her eyes in her black sky.
The night removes the web of her face, bones and ashes.
"Mother, listen to me," and I leave going inward.
Then I decide to keep quiet, biting my own flesh
And swallow the real dust of a deep path.
Santos Lopez
The Water Seekers (2000)
My mother continues to sleep on a white mat
When I decide to abandon her, to go and boost the world.
I do not think she will wake up now when I have to say
"Goodbye, mother," with nearly hopeless nostalgia.
She keeps lying down, her forehead adorned with lilies and thorns.
I do not think my mother will open her eyes, wake up, drink water.
She needs nothing; mine and poor, my mother is very old.
And the elderly live dry, so close in patience.
"I am leaving, mother," I say to her when I reach the exit.
And she does not move, or opens her eyes in her black sky.
The night removes the web of her face, bones and ashes.
"Mother, listen to me," and I leave going inward.
Then I decide to keep quiet, biting my own flesh
And swallow the real dust of a deep path.
Santos Lopez
The Water Seekers (2000)
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