No hi d ai
Being able to visualize
And to draw with firm hand
The curve of wavy cliffs
Driven by the own inaccessible end.
Knowing that all jackets have pockets
And that palms during their growing time
Never knew of thirst or suspected loneliness
Because it was the season of plenty
Preparing all the necessary vitality to face emptiness
Like milk forms in the breast of a mother that never had
Sealing the promise of certain later abundance
That hands reach for once they are able to hold.
With just a spark of intuition
He saw a point not very far
That implied all the arduous work
That without scruples he could do
To one who would break the living branches
To open the thirsty path of his steps
Always unjustified as if all would depend on his acts
And only understandable to those who lived together in hope.
The days follow one by one
All being tragic as necessary
In their hesitation and merciless launching
Without the relief to plead a temporary blindness
When forgiveness is asked by someone who ignores what it is
With the deep tragedy of experiencing a temporary shortcoming
That could be overcame by consciousness attained in its own expansion
Like a wound that endures for believing that is in the midst of a later resistance.
Not like a punch after many months of training
Not like an arrow that hits the target after traveling for years in the wind
Not like the air relieving one who endured submerging
Not like the morning that is fulfilled after a whole night of vigil
But with fierceness they can see
The construction of a mountain grain by grain
Before the eyes of one who preaches by heart in the prairie
On his body the weight of a separated rock will not fall
But the proper forgiveness in the summit of memory.