I
In the bowels of time
there is the resurrection;
It is the treasure of consciousness
inexhaustible;
freedom is your wealth
and his challenge,
before the forcefulness
of the disappearance that erects
anguish sculpted into dominance.
II
Blinded we insult each other
and the same origin is fractured.
It is the landscape of helplessness,
the orphanhood that returns
assisted by enemies
that inhabit
in the ancient fears:
of resentment, fear and hatred.
III
The lightning of pain
in the sands of days,
in this interlude
that we name life.
IV
How to find there
and care
that light in the look;
his loving amazement
that warns
eternity
in intuition,
in the footprints
of a shared presence;
when leaving behind
the cruel wars
of human imbecility,
of the alienation of his pride
so common and destructive:
the existential mirage
of an insatiable self
fragmented in the broken mirrors
of his daze.
V
Discover with patience,
the subtle tasks
of the angles of faith;
the luminous fortress
that covers us,
in the window Mandala
of the heart.
Slit:
The first to wear the hat through the veins of the Nation was Javier Sicilia and the Movement for Peace with Justice and Dignity emerged, whose traces are still alive. When I wrote to Javier about the crime that took the physical life of Carlos Manzo and I alluded to the symbol of the hat that he wore, in reference to the similarities of those tragic events, I reminded him: you were the first to wear the hat… his response was short as an inhale and exhale… Yes. Now it has fallen. Phew, he wrote.