¿Porqué será, Dios del cielo?

Why, God of Heaven,
that the soul does not resign
when they change our calm
for waves of sorrow?
Perhaps it is out of pride
of the one who receives the insult,
because the pain is immense
to see the bud destroyed.
Not listening to the lullaby
makes indifference sprout.

One cries with burning tears
the absence of the loved one,
the moved heart
beats lightly
to suddenly find itself
alone in its great distress,
like a sailing boat
losing its captain
in the arms of the hurricane
why, God of Heaven?

Everyone talks about summer,
everyone about spring
about the moon, the star
and the reddened sky,
as if the lover
who praises so much blue
had within himself the virtue
of eternal happiness,
when only suddenly
the sound of the lute is heard.

Sadness is a hell
that oppresses us at will,
like a greedy bird
biting the bright flowers.
The soul is the ruler
that governs the seasons,
reciprocated in loves
the being becomes the sun
and the beautiful reddening turns black
if the man is in affliction.