The city of the poets
The city of the poets is here, yes:
In the lullabies of my Mother, the voices
Of my Earth, in the arms of my God.
In the kisses of my dear one, the caresses
Of the moon, of the rain, of the flower.
The city of the poets is here, yes:
In the tears of my Father, in this one
Sun- calcining. In him- the thistle and the thorn
Of the evilness and the pain.
The city of the poets is here, yes:
In my adored puppy, in the clown and
The laugh, in the happiness exceeded for
The Byzantines of love. In the feverish Utopia
Of a Cuisse without spot, which fights
Without truce for the freedom and the honor.
The city of the poets is here, yes
In deep mas, in the purest thing, in
Pristine and diaphanous mas: in red this one
And the palpitating (burning) human heart.