A Mi Padre
José Luis Perales
To My Father
He walks tired and with sixty-something years behind him
of hope.
He has a house,
executioner of his hands and his back.
When the day breaks, he walks and sings
looking for the earth's depths,
the warm bread,
miracle he performs every morning.
He is an apprentice of everything, master of nothing
he is a poet in his own way, he likes the dawn
and in his hands
and in his hands
some wounds bloom in secret.
His body is tired, his soul is tired
he has a question on his face
he has a path
he has a path
he likes to be a friend to his friends.
He wanted to change his life, leave the village
but it didn't go beyond being a chimera,
a chimera,
that fell asleep in the earth.
His body is tired, his soul is tired
he wears a white shirt on his chest
with his gaze
with his gaze
he tells me that life is worth nothing.
