OUR HOUSE

- 3rd I sing to the old house of my birth, that of my parents,
that of my grandparents and great-grandparents, that of Vecilla de la Polvorosa -



... cracks, the house suffers,
intimately exhausted,
groans…;
who will come to save her, if we have all been fleeing in search of iron armor,
facing horrors and signs of calamity;
however, one notices that, attached to the walls, that behind the doors
or in the soot of the hearth, there are violins playing in honor of another famous time,
and that the stones, the vine, the oven, the curb of the well are still alive,
and that also the voice and the air,
still, still… ;
… it is so that, although they hurt, one returns to the lost roses, to the lilies that were,
to the lilies, to the swallows of the heart;
… I know that there has been a cyclopean, infinite break:
but here is the house, waiting for this enormous threat to pass and pass
or undefeated cyclone of death;
"... open, then, the doors, let us shout freedom and let the lilies return,
the lilies and the roses”;
oh voice of love, oh beacon or house/light,
oh thirst and vital gift,
oh, oh home, home of ours.
***
Antonio Justel Rodriguez
htps://www.oriondepanthoseas.com
***