La Rosa

La rosa

Let's burn all the music down to the last note,
To roast it the syncopation until it's black,
Don't look like that, my hemp child:
Let the toccatos crush the walls of temples -
All the way to your father, the forerunner.
My precious child,
May your speech be louder than the speeches of all nations,
And the rumors about you are far away from the farthest lands.
Soon the sons from the outskirts of Golgotha
They will stand in your windy columns.
That's why apples fall, overripe from the juice.,
Under the rough rustle of the primordial black trees
Where are we, who are we? Who will hear our breathing?
Where did we wake up yesterday?
And who was lying next to him, cold?
a woman or a child? or the whole holy family?
Even if you've never seen the dawn,
Even if you never see the sunset,
Today, cry for the babies who sleep innocently.
While they are too small, cry while you can wash their bodies and shelter them from the wind .