Con todas
sus palabras la noche me abanicaba
Del fuego
de la vida y fue necesario abrir los ojos.
Mi alma se
ahogaba en el fluido de mi sombra.
Pero esta
vez me acercaba a la luz huyendo del pasado
Que calzaba
botas de hierro. Me detuve en la casa de
La felicidad,
en la puerta me sacudí la nieve
Y colgué el
traje de invierno. Las escarchas se
Derritieron
por el corredor de la quietud.
El agua era
más clara, el agua no era barro.
El agua no
era oscura, el agua no era gris.
Sus ojos
brillaban, aunque con arrugas
Entusiasmadamente
parpadeaban. Se suaviza la dura
Piedra puesta
en el camino. No crece la hiedra.
El pasado había
perdido su antifaz dentro del
Iluso maremoto.
Germina la
clemencia.
Y lo que yo
era de mi quedó
En las costas del mar muerto.
La nueva
primavera refresca mi alma y en el
Suave arroyuelo
fluyo tranquila.
Ivette Mendoza
2014
Soft brook
Soft brook
With every word, the night fanning me from
The fire of life and I needed to open my eyes.
My soul was drowned in the fluid of my own shadow.
But this time I approached the light escaping from the past
Which wore its iron boots. I stopped at the house of
Happiness, at the door I shed off the snow
And hung up the winter’s jacket. And the rimes
Melted down the corridor of stillness.
The water was clear, the water was not muddy.
The water was not dark, the water was not gray.
His eyes shone, but with wrinkles,
They enthusiastically flickered. It softened the hard
Stone laying on the road. Not even ivy grows.
The past has lost its mask in the
Illusory tsunami.
Clemency germinates.
And what I was it stays
On the shores of the Dead Sea.
The new spring refreshes my soul and on the
Smooth quiet brook I flowed.
The fire of life and I needed to open my eyes.
My soul was drowned in the fluid of my own shadow.
But this time I approached the light escaping from the past
Which wore its iron boots. I stopped at the house of
Happiness, at the door I shed off the snow
And hung up the winter’s jacket. And the rimes
Melted down the corridor of stillness.
The water was clear, the water was not muddy.
The water was not dark, the water was not gray.
His eyes shone, but with wrinkles,
They enthusiastically flickered. It softened the hard
Stone laying on the road. Not even ivy grows.
The past has lost its mask in the
Illusory tsunami.
Clemency germinates.
And what I was it stays
On the shores of the Dead Sea.
The new spring refreshes my soul and on the
Smooth quiet brook I flowed.
