Poetry
Poetry is
mourn alone
as the voice of Kutxi
clay soils you shirt.
playing in the schoolyard
words strung together by Mestre.
Gsus Take a beer with Bonilla
while teaching you to dodge
bats that gives us life.
Entering a bar and find
front with fists hides
Escandar hat.
That Small and Cañamares
off the ground make you
and then ask you
to see who said you would.
Being an evening with ARMH
and see his hands light traces
fear forced to cover.
Coming home from my parents
and see a plate on top the table.
Play as Alicia tells me
you and me happy.
Sitting with my friends
and let the magic flow
that give us the words
while the landscape is full of smiles.
Gifts that Batani
leaves us on every wall.
walk along a path in autumn
and see horseback
Manolo Chinato verses.
Xosé Ambás is looking into the eyes
a lady of 80 years
and that smile gets to sing.
See David Gonzalez, Vic,
to Kebra Barrueco and reciting
truths to the chairs of the jury.
Poetry is Miguel Hernández
sleeping on a bench in Madrid,
Machado is goodbye from exile,
is Victor Jara in a mine,
Beneditti and Neruda are
drawing letters in thousands of pages,
are the hands of a farmer
next morning
daily.
Poetry
is all we have to say.
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