…And where these thoughts
flood my mind, like an April
dawn in the deep green glen
I see something in front of
a cave, half buried in the soil
which was poking out like
a sprout, like a branch as if
it seek to say something though
the ivy tried to cover it again
and in the foggy sun rays
early in the morning, you
could see it like a hand, and other
times like a wounded little bird.
I lean down and grab the violin.
And the violin belonged to
the old anchorite and
I found it in front of his
lonely cave.
The old anchorite kept it
while he lived in the cave
with the rocks, the beasts
and with the ghosts
when he lived in peace
in constant contemplation
always having an eagle
companion by his side
when you looked at him
you felt deep inside of you
were there such people?
Aren’t the gods dreams too?
Libros Libertad 