Fears.

The blood leaves spots when dry,
the clothes are tinged with distrust;
the painter no longer uses watercolors,
moistens the canvases with tears of their own and others.

The seams are seen although the technique is perfect;
the scars heal but leave a trace.
Dogs believe in their masters
but they always remember that they do not have to go where they have not been called.

The drowned cry of a frightened child
it is impregnated in the ears of any curious unfortunate.
I bet the life that has happened to all:
Once they gave faith to a cause that surely will have hurt them.

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Trees grow strong like elephant bones;
the trees pray with the branches not being mutilated;
they bloom at the tips, the roots expand;
but if they twist, there is no human force to charge them.

See your deep eyes in the mirror,
remember dying the times you have died,
you get to the top and you think you've won
a prize that turns out to be shit and burned grass.

I see your eyes, my eyes.
I see your hands, my hands;
hands that have touched themselves;
hands that have wanted to reach the heart of great charisms.

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I see you and I remember the dream that I had
when an angel with red curls asks me what I've always wanted:
The truth I want honesty and caresses,
nevertheless I could never ask, I doubted if it was a possible favor.

I take care of the gift you gave me,
I put the name of your beloved past;
I baptized the future with the little drawing
of your memories, the ones you have given me.

I have a sharp iron bar across my chest.
Try to get it out,
burning to the touch.
A piece of iron that bleeds even the fears that sin grieve.

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