In the Womb of Time

Peter K. Burian

Down the dark tunnel to the womb of time,

forget the senses of your body,

let go of pain, let go of joy,

find the teacher who will guide your soul

even further down to your essence.

Follow the path your elders had traveled and known.

They are there, by the river of life,

in the woods, up the mountains they went,

across the plains and the oceans they'd gone.

in the forever migrations of old.

There's your brother, your sister, your mother and dad.

Do you recognize them all?

Dare to go, visit them,

ask them that question nobody else is able to know the answer for. 

See their faces, their hearts and their souls.

Dare to go, visit them,

you may even find me, when I was one of yours, or just yours.

I may even find you

We may chat, we may learn from each other

the whats, the whys and the hows.

Why can't you understand me today?

What had you done, what had I done then?

How had I felt, what had I thought?

How deep was my pain, how great was your joy?

Why had I chosen that path?

Why had we parted our ways?

You see what had happened that day,

you can feel what was felt,

and think what was thought.

You can even relive that experience so old

and come back with a clearer insight

of the reason you're wounded this time. 

Hidden memories of so long ago

awoke the inner eye and explained

why this now is hurting so bad.

This meaning is mending my heart,

and your wound from that pain of the past.

You cry now, I do too, but it is just the joy;

we've been freed from that burden so old,

our walk becomes lighter, 

and Love has softened our voice. 

Gota de lluvia

Gota de lluvia

Gota de lluvia fui ayer sobre el pétalo trémulo, 

y hoy color soy de su diáfana piel.

Beso húmedo fui ayer en sus labios,

y hoy sudor en su frente cansada.

En tu vaso me has bebido tantas veces,

y hoy me desechas inservible.

Me apuro entre las piedras 

en arroyo de montaña,

en torrente me despeño,

a la vez doy de beber 

al microbio y al árbol, al ave y a la rosa

y me acuesto en el crepúsculo del mar. 

En botella de plástico me encierras,

me derrochas, me ensucias y me infectas,

para luego limpiarme y reusarme.

Soy vehículo de todo lo que vive,

sostén de toda vida.

Me escurro en el vaso palpitante de tus venas,

y conduzco la savia de las plantas,

me nutro para nutrir tus células,

me deshago y reconstruyo,

fluyo, me licúo, me congelo,

y luego me evaporo,

llevo en mi seno la memoria de todo,

yo recuerdo al santo y al villano,

cada beso, cada crimen, cada mano,

están en mí marcados para siempre.

Soy memoria de la historia y tu pasado,

vengo sutil y en torrentes me desplomo,

sobre todo lo que existe en esta tierra,

¿no me ves en las fibras de tu seno?

¿no me sientes correr en tu pecho al agitarte?

¿No soy yo la emoción de tu contento?

¿No soy yo el vigor de tu amado cuando gozas?

¿Quién eres tú sin mi?

Yo velo por tí cada segundo, cada hora,

Sin mí, contadas son tus horas.

Yo soy el amor que te sostiene,

pero si tú no me cuidas ni me atiendes,

se apaga la vida de tus venas,

se muere la flor, el capullo y la crisálida,

no vuela el pájaro ni canta,

se mueren los colores 

y callan las voces de los niños.

Yo te amo, ¿me amas tú?

Ven y vamos juntos a gozar del milagro de la vida. 

Celsa

El Hombre y el Agua - Joan Manuel Serrat

Rain drop

Rain Drop

Rain drop yesterday, I was on the tremulous petal,

and today I am the color of its diaphanous skin.

Wet kiss I was yesterday on your lips,

and today I am sweat on his tired countenance.

In your glass you have drunk me oft times,

and today you discard me as useless.

I hurry over the rocks

in mountain streams,

in torrents I fall over the earth;

I feed as well the tree and the microbe,

the bird and the rose,

and I lie down at the bottom of the sea.

In a plastic bottle you lock me up,

you waste me, pollute me and infect me,

then you cleanse me and reuse me.

I am the vehicle of everything that lives,

I am the support of all life,

I glide the throbbing vessel of your veins,

and I drive the sap of the plants,

I nourish myself to nourish your cells,

I disappear and come back,

I flow liquid and I freeze,

and then I evaporate,

I carry in my bosom the memory of everything,

I remember the saint and the villain,

every kiss, every crime, every hand,

I carry forever their mark.

I am memory of history and your past,

I come subtly, and in torrents I fall

over everything that exists on this earth.

Don’t you see me in the fibers of your heart?

Don’t you feel me running in your chest when you worry?

Am I not in the emotion of your happiness?

Am I not the vigor of your beloved when you enjoy?

Who are you without me?

I watch over you every second, every hour,

Without me, your time is up.

I am the love that sustains you,

but if you don’t take care of me or pay attention,

the life of your veins is extinguished,

the flower, the cocoon and the chrysalis will die,

the bird will not fly, will not sing,

the colors will die,

and the voices of the children will silence.

I love you, do you love me?

Come and let us together enjoy the miracle of life.

El Hombre y el Agua - by Joan Manuel Serrat

Both ends of the road

Both ends of the road

Refugees caravan

If you stayed

you were dead,

if you leave,

you are probably dead,

or maybe there's hope.

You decided to go.

Bear-foot on the road

your home town 

was soon a dot 

on the horizon.

On you went, 

and some more

joined you then.

Shared needs,

shared hunger,

shared days,

shared nights,

and some joys, 

but for the most part

it's been pains.

More joined you.

The journey's been long.

Your thirst's been so strong.

They don't care.

Some do, and

they talk.

Some compassion

feeds you,

and then on you go.

The journey's so long,

your feet hurt,

but you have to go, 

and you go, 

and you go.

When it's dark

in the silence you cry,

but it's useless 

you know.

There's no hope in your town.

They'd kill you anyway

if you stayed.

And if you go

you may die midway,

you know that very well.

Their little feet bleeding

when they walk alongside

may your stomach so small

but your tears are dry.

You carry them some time,

but they're so many in the end, 

there's no way to help.

One day you hear the news

"they won't enter, no way"

"we are building a wall,"

"if they come anyway,

we will send them the troops",

and "we'll close our door".

But your tears are dry,

there's not a way back.

You'll die anyway,

and maybe there is hope. 

By the thousands you walk

and your feet hurt some more.

You are hungry, and thirty and sick.

There is death at both ends of the road,

maybe someone will help.

And you walk,

by the thousands you walk.

Maybe there's hope

Maybe someone'd help.

They are taking your children away,

you don't know where they'd go,

not even time to tell them goodbye;

they're gone now,

but your tears are dry.

Maybe there is hope.

Maybe someone'd help.

You don't know,

you just walk;

there is probably death

at both ends of the road.

Celsa 

Never enough

Never enough

On the kitchen table there is no place to eat

only space to study,

there is only hunger to know.

I was seven one day when my grandma

swept them all from the table to the floor

frustrated with me

because she wanted to set it for lunch.

The more I learn, the more I see how little I know,

the more I need to learn.

I have this thirst to drink knowledge

that is unquenchable,

never enough.

All those books, all that time,

all those questions answered,

and then more questions asked.

On the spine of a book

I have travelled to countries, religions and cultures,

in the pages of a book

I have dived into the depths of things,

I have learned to cook,

I have learned to play games,

I have learned about plants,

and people and animals,

languages and poetry,

and so much more.

I don't know when is enough.

Meanwhile there are books on the table,

on the floor,

in the bathroom,

in the bookcase,

in the nightstands,

in the car,

on the sofa,

and another in my hand.

So long ago

So Long Ago

Walking today, I step on that stick

and it breaks.

It reminds me of your tears

when that door was closed.

I hear the choke in your throat 

and the pain in your voice.

So long ago...

It's Spring time now.

The woods become green

and a wildflower carpet

ripples on the fields.

Yes, they sprouted from the mud

of the rotten past.

Look how beautiful they are!

It's the same with your smile!

Caminando hoy, piso un palito

y se quiebra.

Me recuerda tus lágrimas

cuando aquella puerta se cerró.

Escucho el ahogo en tu garganta

y el dolor en tu voz.

Hace tanto tiempo ya...

Es Primavera ahora.

El bosque se vuelve verde

y una alfombra de flores silvestres

ondula en el campo.

Sí, nacieron del barro

del pasado putrefacto.

¡Mira qué bellas son!

¡Es igual tu sonrisa!

Sunlight trip

Sunlight Trip

The Macachín flower

Golden and warm, 

the Sun came up today

even though the air's so cold,

its light & comfort

took me back to the childhood fields

of the countryside in my home country.

A soft silence rose up from the earth

soaked with the last rain,

coming up in tears of life and green,

Now like then, the great kiskadee

greets me flying over my head

and I say 'bienteveo'.

It's a time of soul search, 

finding answers to many questions.

The sunlight closes my pupils 

but opens my mind to the insights.

I see the roads taken

I see their textures, the mud and the rocks,

I see the sceneries,

remember walking here and there,

so many walks, so many roads,

and different places. 

The Sun now at the Zenith

shines bright. I see clearer, 

how much love I received,

most of the way.

Rain Lilies

There were thistles and roses with thorns, 

but there were wildflowers and pansies;

though my favorite were macachines 

and rain lilies.

My inner child is happy now,

I can still sing along the childhood songs

that made us dance around

holding hands, in sunny days.

I am happy now...