El peso de un pasado que no está
Un día miré a la vida.
Con los ojos de la experiencia.
Y en ellos las lágrimas.
Del dolor antiguo
Con la tensa calma.
De los hombros cansados
Vi bajar los brazos.
De la guerrera abatida
Y como si el viento supiese.
Y en el medio de las hojas danzantes.
Alzó la mirada erguida, con una difusa sonrisa.
Mientras canta el viento susurrante misterioso, las manos partidas por la dureza de haber vivido, en una vida que no era propia, fueron un impuesto castigo.
Y al acabar la tarde, con el sol avergonzado, el alma respira, resuena la esperanza y al entrar la noche, calma, por fin la calma.
English
The weight of a past that is no longer there
One day I looked at life.
With the eyes of experience.
And in them, tears.
Of ancient pain
With tense calm.
From tired shoulders
I saw arms drop.
Of the defeated warrior
And as if the wind knew.
And in the midst of dancing leaves.
She raised her gaze, upright, with a faint smile.
While the wind sings its mysterious whisper, her hands, broken by the harshness of having lived a life that was not her own, were an imposed punishment.
And as the afternoon ends, with the sun ashamed, the soul breathes, hope resounds, and as night falls, calm, finally calm.