When I learned that there are Moors and Jews,
Thieves and whores
In the golden branches of my family tree,
I left happy singing in the streets ...
Among the spacious spaces of memory dwells oblivion. Each time it invades more angles, which leaves in the shadows. Sometimes a flash of light illuminates those corners and, from nowhere, we are presented with a reality almost lost.
It was a quickening light of those that brought to my presence these verses of my brother, who died fourteen years ago. I rebel against oblivion. I know it's futile fight, but I will not give up. Therefore, because I want to be a notary of what was and had value, I leave here the poem, which well outlines the profile of who wrote it:
And the people embraced me with joy:
Like a newborn kiss me.
"It looks like us,
Everybody looks like
This one is a pureblood man. "
Someone, however,
Shouted at my side: "Chusma!",
And some invoked public order
In the name of good manners.
But there was a big party in the brothels,
And in suburban taverns and prisons.
And in the open; Also in the open
They celebrated vagabonds.
What Bethlehem was my people!
What a brilliant Christmas, the party of my life
Common and street!
I gave the briefcase and gloves,
I got a backpack
And I started running this world so much mine
With my back to my ivory tower,
Disrupted
..........
Note: My brother was a priest. When he wrote this poem he was 44.