Aniquirona
I
And I
am looking for the voices on the road
to
translate them
surely
they will bear your name
I have learned to interpret the wind's
voice
the same
one that lullabies the leaves half-opened
of
your tree.
Aniquirona, Aniquirona!
They call
you river and
in the frenetic droplets of the
air
goes your
breath holding on to the weathercocks
The
sun lands impetuously
in the cup
of my hand
with the
gold and the wheat of your summit
Shall I ascend to the origins of
language?
There the
seagulls narrate
the
difficult days of the sky
the
mysterious transfer ot the clouds
Must I
translate
the
musical language of mockingbirds and blackbirds
to know
you?
Shall
I ask myself
woman of
long dreams
and
inexplicable perils
to what
country are you inviting me?
I hardly
know your name
the
river revealed it to me
and I
know that Aniquirona is
the
threshold to some other paths.
Winston Morales
Chavarro
Translation: Luis Rafael
Gálvez
