V
May the wind sing about
the incredible clarity of the myth
surrounding the Kore’s lips before
the first kiss. May the sparrow chirps
travel amid the olive tree’s leaves
sieving golden sunshine and cantos,
and may the evening silence
the approaching dreams behind
the curtain while the pleats of our craving
for the virgin dawn delight at the
thought of a kiss. Oh, mother of all art,
with your ethereal solitude, I call upon you.
Rise from your stony enclave and come
grace this troglodyte with self-knowledge,
with understanding, tolerance, acceptance,
gift his heart a new love that will morph
a new era when new colours
dress the rosebuds like new ideas
when new unsoiled rivulets
orate their new feelings to the
embrace of the anticipating ocean.
Libros Libertad 