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Calendar Leaves Today I have turned in the leaves of my calendar and let my fantasies fly like tears of a rosary. The hours have flown away, dates have lost their motive, just the singing birds remain breathing memories in their nests. I have seen the spring with its rumors of gentle breeze, and in the hours of the sphere, a vague flutter of birds. They have departed in the blue of midday... only leaves of old calendars float on to the most remote gardens of the of the south. Only you, amazing muse of enchanting candor, stay in time suspended, sleeping in the cradle of my arms. Only you... in the passing of the hours with their crisp sound of Stradivarius, resounding in the leaves of the muted calendar .
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I am only a reflection of
the light that the bards of the world proyect, and poet for inhabiting their neighborhood Fullness I live under the glare of a star detached from the short earthly path connected to the love of true life in the mystical bed of eternity. The hours were of time
consumed, lonely path
to the world of vain chimeras, a
road already drawn to destination where
the rumba of life ends. Free of vain prosaic ties,the soul his infinite journey without repair undertakes- beyond so much grief and death, power
seeks in benevolent calm to
be of Peace its carrier pigeon, that
somewhere in the world God awaits! 2016
And God created Mom Of all times millennium's past of every year, month and day, from creations dawn, from all the journeys of mankind to this morning of your reign. Mom! Without you, what other reason to live another day, to wear strength to wake and walk to war and pain? Without you, Mom, all deeds are in vain.
¿Here on earth, in blossom and ambrosia upon your human
garden , or beyond, in heaven by glorious labor, You, Mom, inhabit the frontiers of never-ending dreams for it is your light upon the altar of our prayers for us, your homage to the Gods, in vigil guarding our days.
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