The child that I was appears in my dreams,
takes my hand and says to me,
Come let's retrace the forgotten trail....
Nothing has changed, the same shady, magical patht.
The same turbulent sea, the angry waves punishing
the beach...
Our barefeet tread its sands, we frolick
amongst the foam, we discover shells....
Tired and hungry we return home,
in the kitchen my mother prepares the soup;
I embrace her and weep on her lap, my child
at my back also weeps....
It is spring, the world is a diamond,
affter lunch we go to bed and during
the intense midday I listen to forgotten
stories....
My child closes his eyes, he is a sleeping angel,
the maternal lips, a harp in my ears.....
Good-bye mother, Good-bye past....
Her hand on my forehead is fire.....
Autor; Ernesto Ravelo
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