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Description

My defeat...
tired as the grain
dragged by the tide,
resigned,
silent within,
letting itself go
in an infinite swaying.
Martyr in its destiny,
of its cycles,
of beginnings that are endings,
of rebirths in the mourning
that leads him to an oyster,
the mother-of-pearl of that same grain
it has swallowed.
It leaves,
and returns in a lullaby
that caresses in warm water,
and sometimes cold;
that bares that beach,
dancing with the moon
and playing with the sun
And truly it languishes!
Languishes the hope
of some steps
that press other grains;
searching for the one they have swallowed
and contemplating those spilled,
of a hand that harvests
stars in its cloister;
waiting for their grain,
its defeat,
will be transmuted into a jewel.

Description

My defeat...
tired as the grain
dragged by the tide,
resigned,
silent within,
letting itself go
in an infinite swaying.
Martyr in its destiny,
of its cycles,
of beginnings that are endings,
of rebirths in the mourning
that leads him to an oyster,
the mother-of-pearl of that same grain
it has swallowed.
It leaves,
and returns in a lullaby
that caresses in warm water,
and sometimes cold;
that bares that beach,
dancing with the moon
and playing with the sun
And truly it languishes!
Languishes the hope
of some steps
that press other grains;
searching for the one they have swallowed
and contemplating those spilled,
of a hand that harvests
stars in its cloister;
waiting for their grain,
its defeat,
will be transmuted into a jewel.