El inspirado

a un poeta

Llegó exhausto. Inclinando la cabeza llegó. Dijo estar cansado de ahogarse en los charcos. De buscar en la sombra las luces perdidas. Dijo haberlas encontrado. Dijo que era duro caminar descalzo el desierto en busca de arena. Quemaba dijo. Había buscado tanto. Había dejado tanto allá en el desierto. Inclinando la cabeza lo dijo. Sudaba. Decía que romper el agua no quitaba la sed. Que había descendido tanto que emergió sin ganas de tomar aire. Brillaba. Dijo que creía haber encontrado las semillas y la tierra. Que no eran tan mágicas dijo. Dijo que no habría tiempo ni fuerzas ya para ver crecer las rosas. Por escrito lo dijo.

The inspired one

to a poet

He arrived exhausted. With his head bowed he arrived. He said he was tired of drowning in puddles. Of looking for lost lights in the shadows. He said he had found them. He said it was hard to walk the desert barefoot in search of sand. It burned, he said. He had searched so much. He had left so much behind in the desert. He said it with his head bowed. He was sweating. He said that breaking water would not quench his thirst. That he had descended so far, he emerged without any desire to breathe. He was shining. He said he thought he had found the seeds and the soil. They were not so magical, he said. He said there would be no more time or strength to watch the roses grow. In writing he said it.

Traducción al inglés de mi amiga María Victoria y cómplices