Death does not let you say Goodbye

Death does not let you say Goodbye

Let no one come tell me I am guilty of this or that.

True, the noise of knees falling on ground

embellishes the soul, the noise of teardrops

on blackened grass paves the way

to what is always a return.

Let no one come with his bouquets

of dry flowers to leave on the grave

where there should be a corpse, but there is no corpse,

only eyes who know how terrible it is to look at nothing.

So, let no one come to reveal what was disclosed before.

Don't come to build walls around the house of the one

who before being young was already old.

Let no one stir the evil word whose center is an abyss,

whose edge is a storm.

Don't try to close the sutured wound, or bring evil violins

to sweeten the unhealthy melody recognized

by my agonizing chest: the asthma where my winter rears

its dark birds, grows its fields of fog, 

that night and day

can no longer wait, it wants to be closed.