jueves, 1 de enero de 2009

To kill a mockingbird




to Isel, on her birthday

Some believe or not,

Some have seen him or thought

Once upon a time, into hard hot summer days,

An autumn leaf grazed their shoulder

And never touched the ground.

A few have heard some steps by night.

A few have found the tree, the ancient tree

With a hole in its belly. Hidden secrets in a special language.

I did touch the toys: a little crystal ball,

A pair of nuts, some unknown seeds,

Headless dolls, a shining piece of mineral stone,

Halves of wrinkly paper sheets saying nonsense.

Nonsense means mystery, means truth,

Maybe Faith, perhaps Love,

Peace. Slander. Words of misunderstanding birds speak.

A mockingbird’s feather.

Nonsense means Life for a child.


(Madrid. May 18, 2004.)

© 2004 David Lago-Gonzalez

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