Esta voz

(Song)

This voice is like a lump, clay, and sand,
an icy plume of some thistle,
roughness of wild stone
that defiantly bristles on the peaks.

I have purified it in glass forges,
in marine scales or shipwrecks.
I tempered it in the hurricane of bitter absence
and my blood, glaciers of pebbles.

I will make it a path one day of absent dreams,
the wings of your pupils will always see it.

When life plants a little drum
in your belly
I will make it a shawl of clouds
with fringes of faint suns.

On a luminous mast of words
my brothers would joyfully hoist it,
if a range of melodic shades
rippled in the flag of my song.

I have purified it in glass forges,
in marine scales or shipwrecks.
I tempered it in the hurricane of bitter absence
and my blood, glaciers of pebbles.

I will make it a path one day of absent dreams,
the wings of your pupils will always see it.

When life plants a little drum
in your belly
I will make it a shawl of clouds
with fringes of faint suns.