And what do I ask the world
that is enough with itself,
for it to walk by my side
guiding my senses?
With eternal tattoos
already granted me its offerings
guiding those who I didn’t see
when they were looking there
where they weren’t known
a way to shine
that attracted other people’s light.
(that attracted alien light?)
The East, in its distance,
dyed in a strange black amber
locks where are sleeping
waters of blue reflections.
In his wedding with the austral
the obsidian queen followed
looking at me forever
and nailing in my pupil
its no color, more patent.
The tearing came to light,
of those who never hurt,
so I can cry
from the oblique orbit.
The austral power left
in my bones perpetuated
the shape of an instrument,
born already under the sun
in many other Ancestors,
the everlasting Africa,
the always sleeping mother,
who claimed for herself
in one of her dreams
ripple me with a cloak
to cover my head,
but she did it only in part.
The North presented its battle,
it turned golden my skin,
it fought with the gravity
so that I didn’t have
proud curls
that always looks up to heaven.
But something always remains,
and the hidden Elves
from European forests
and even more northern
they bought a colander
resistant and more than fine,
to splash over all myself,
(to splash on me)
by showing them my face,
with caramel drops,
and reach, too, like threads,
digging in my hair.

Translate: Elena Garnelo