I will drink of the truth
We drank water with both hands as a cup.
We drank when the sun reminded us.
The water was refreshing, it was not
odorless, colorless and tasteless.

The water was sweet, refreshing, just like the idea.
Water of transparency, of innocence.
We had the need to test the water,
dress the spring, the freshness, and save the sun
under the secrets, memory and nostalgia.

I want my children to have cleanliness,
see the pure green and healthy water;
that they can contemplate health,
the stem of firm words,
that they do not tremble because they know too much.
Today we tangle the times
in a poor, austere present.

I have the massive dream locked in my fist,
I squeeze him without suffocating him. He is a trembling little animal.
His skin is extremely thin, newborn.
I'll take care of it from radiation, although I don't know how
a love can overcome the infinite damage of hate.

The water, the air, the food, from the pinches of hate,
the dish is served in hell,
but in my fist I have a skinny animal.
He begs for a corner, for a hole in reality.
I hold it like my destiny, in my fist.

It will have to do with the loss and the joy of dreaming,
will be in all this little animal that first of all
undo oblivion, reject stagnant thought,
that he averts his gaze, he only sees the cancer and regrets it.

The hemlock of my generation is oblivion.
There is no one who defends this little animal.
I close my fist, I give it shelter.

It's a pile of questions
because there is no previous decision, a notice,
just a mounted nightmare,
clenching his fist tightly.

Appears when I don't want to see
like an irreconcilable stain.
It's the fruit fly, the volatile cancer.
There is a constant attack.
An undeclared war on cells,
to everything that lives.
Hatred of life devastates populations.

Can life forget its tumors?
We can drink the water from the river
with a blank conscience,
a transparent void,
an overwhelming silence.

I have seen death open like wounds,
it is breeding worms in the skin.
Death reproduces death,
fear in the eyes.

The darkness poured into the faces exceeds the word.
They try the word and they have a tumor on their tongue.
It is a symptom, not a disease.
The disease is not in the body.

Now the water is in my hands,
I don't feel the same calm.
His lips attract me like elusive fish.
The stranger has the colors of death.
I will drink of the truth.