Mourning Drought

El poema que tenéis a continuación va sobre una mujer cuyo marido está a punto de morir. Deseperada, va al templo y pide a los dioses que le salven, y a cambio tomen lo que quieran de ella. Los dioses salvan al hombre a cambio de que ella nunca más vuelva a llorar. Está contenta con esa solución hasta que su hijo muere, y vuelve al templo suplicando su derecho a expresar sus sufrimiento. Los dioses no la escuchan, y ella acaba sola y deprimida dentro de un pozo seco, reflejo del estado de su alma.

Para los que lo hayáis leído, es la historia de la vieja que cuenta Birú, el niño de El niño que nació de una pepita de café. Decidí pasar esta pequeña tragedia a un poema en inglés, que más tarde se transformaría en canción por medio de un grupo que no terminó de cuajar. Ojalá algún día salga adelante ese proyecto y os pueda mostrar el producto final a través las manos de unos grandes músicos amigos míos. Mientras tanto, ahí tenéis el poema:

Her spirit is so sad

And so dry,

She is so lonely and blue

So dead from inside…

She does feel no more

But PAIN.

Inside a well she’s lost

-always INSIDE-

She mourns and shouts but

She never…

CRIES.

Her loving husband has a loving lover

In the obscurity of the room

He cannot but sigh:

“Azrael, Daffodil, Libitina”.

None but the Death he is

Calling for.

She cries and cries

Asks the Gods for help:

“Take anything you need

But do not kill him”.

They ask, and ask

-life is not enough-

“Don’t cry again

And he will survive”.

Smile, your wish has been granted…

She thought her happy

No tear across her cheek,

‘till her husband’s mistress

Comes, her babes seeks.

Mesmerizing, intoxicating,

She seduces him.

His mother cannot tell,

He cannot resist!

Death and solitude in the world,

Always lost in the mourning drought,

Never say a word of the things that happened

Better keep yourself in the past you love.

Gone with the sun

His innocence and her joy,

She wants to mourn

But her eyes dried up.

“My son is dead

Let the wet rape my pain”.

Gods are crueler than Death,

And their words are LAW.

“Your tears are mine,

Your pain is only yours.

A dry pain must it be

‘Cos you cannot mourn”.

RAGE in a cage breeding love and hate-

RUN if you can but the facts are there:

Oxygen gone with the FIRE inside.

It hurts, it’s life

DO NOT DARE to cry!

Ostentious, black widow-

Hungry of suffering: a whore.

DEATH took his son,

And joy, and hope.

She knew love,

And also sorrow:

Suffering is

Her tomorrow.

Lost in a well she’s dead

From inside-

She mourns, and shouts but

She never…

CRIES.

Death and solitude in the world,

Always lost in the mourning drought,

Never say a word of the things that happened

Better keep yourself in the past you love.

RAGE in a cage breeding love and hate-

RUN if you can but the facts are there:

Oxygen gone with the FIRE inside.

It hurts, it’s life

DO NOT DARE to cry!

Flores, flores para los muertos.

And what the fuck is left for the alive?