She came from another planet
Sharing my table silently
Not speaking more than necessary
She contained justly and expressed precisely.
She asked me the notebook I always carry
As I said I felt a little embarrassed
She conveyed with her expression that it did not matter
As she knew the writing differed from the one who wrote.
They were there,
The number of dead before Christ
The number of those who died later
Those who are currently alive, divided in two columns
One for villainous and another for those who are not any more.
He went through all the pages of diseases
Those of wars and scarcities
Stopping a little more in suicides
And much more in provoked abortions.
Once the time arrived I asked her to go
I evaded asking her what she would do
I did not want to hear the already known answer
And I only registered whatever she decided to do.
Then I traveled the stairs of memory
And in my office I only lit one candle
On the table, there was a book on my left
And in front of me, the notebook opened…..
Once more, both columns of the living
Were testing me although I was not
To see in which one of them for this time
And without lying I finally wrote my name.
If flesh does not condemn
Could be flesh what save us
And what occurs in the length of time
In a period of time also stops occurring.
Just two columns at the end of day
And only love is needed to create the third
As now it is dark and this is the moment
Because the hand is still firm and writes without delay.