New Songs

Says the afternoon: “I thirst for shadow!”
The moon says: “I thirst for stars!”
The crystal fountain asks for lips
and the wind sighs.

I thirst for aromas and laughter,
thirst for new songs
without moons and without lilies,
and without dead loves.

A morning song that shakes
to the still pools
of the future and fill with hope
its waves and its muds.

A luminous and restful song
full of thought,
Virgin of sadness and anguish
and virginal of dreams.

Sing without lyrical meat that fills
of laughter the silence
(a flock of blind pigeons
thrown into the mystery).

Sing that goes to the soul of things
and to the soul of the winds
and finally rest in joy
of the eternal heart

The afternoon says:

“I’m thirsty for shadow!”
And the moon: “I want stars.”
The crystal fountain asks for lips,
the wind, for signs.

I’m thirsty for scents and for laughter.
Thirsty for new songs
without irises or moons,
without dead loves.

A morning song that can shiver
quiet backwaters
of the future and fill
their waves and silt with hope.

A luminous and tranquil song
full of thought,
virgin to sadness and anguish,
virgin to reverie.

A song skinned of lyric, filling
silence with laughter.
(A flock of blind doves
tossed into mystery.)

A song to go to the soul of things
and to the soul of winds,
resting at last in the bliss
of the eternal heart.