Jardinero sin tierra | Poesía [ES/EN]

Siembra crucifijos
y no invoques a Dios;
sabe del pecado que nadie te perdona:
fuiste feliz (a veces)
en tus ganas
de encontrar vida
en la infinitud del niño
con sus misterios en blanco,
su reloj
y el cuento debajo de la cama.
Dios
creó a los anormales
que se creen invisibles,
a los que buscan un teléfono
para hablar sobre filosofía,
abril con su bolero,
Van Gogh
y la ruleta rusa de los Beatles,
a los poetas tristes
que no sobran
porque si sobraran
no te hubiese creado.
Te creías Dios
y no saludabas a los muertos.
Sabemos
eres el presidente de tu soledad,
no quisiste morir en casa
por aquello del plagio al otro Borges,
el Manifiesto contra el Apocalipsis,
las escaleras,
los trenes que no soportan la distancia,
el país que nos dejaste
y la isla,
como un árbol,
de un jardinero
sin tierra.

Sow crucifixes
and don't invoke God;
know the sin no one forgives you for:
you were happy (sometimes)
in your desire
to find life
in the infinity of the child
with his blank mysteries,
his clock
and the story under the bed.
God
created the abnormal ones
who think they're invisible,
those who look for a phone
to talk about philosophy,
April with its bolero,
Van Gogh
and the Beatles' Russian roulette,
the sad poets
who aren't superfluous
because if they were,
He wouldn't have created you.
You thought you were God
and you didn't greet the dead.
We know
you are the president of your solitude,
you didn't want to die at home
because of the plagiarism of the other Borges,
the Manifesto against the Apocalypse,
the stairs,
the trains that cannot bear the distance,
the country you left us
and the island,
like a tree,
of a gardener
without soil.