For this solitude we have grown in
with lips against the glass
like the steep rock of a draught in the questionings.
For this denture diluted in the ends of an empty envelope.
For this solitude we swim in
ready to dredge our hands and feet.
For this solitude with which we don’t know how to ask
to be freed from the weight of our tongue,
take, hide also my son’s amygdalae.
For this incestuous solitude of kings
incapable of finding their pupils in the grass.
For this solitude how to never know
where the human root ends
and the mushroom begins, the infection of dignities.
For this full moon amid the public square.
For this solitude we‘ll have to shut the whole up,
we‘ll have to count the stars again
from the beginning, from the bottom of the fear and the eternal night
and wont be enough.
Words in the Outdoors. Contemporary Cuban Social Poetry, Selection and prologue by Pedro Llanes and Silvia Padrón Jomet. Translated by Edelmis Anoceto Vega.