Maybe no more they come to announce me
to be the witness of my execution.
Maybe after all Pasternak
was never put against a wall.
I’m with the colors of the day upon my face.
I have stayed dress for wedding.
A gladiolus in my hand. The red, in my cheeks.
The raven yawns mutely, bored to death
over the apostle’s big head towards a corner.
Words in the Outdoors. Contemporary Cuban Social Poetry, Selection and prologue by Pedro Llanes and Silvia Padrón Jomet. Translated by Edelmis Anoceto Vega.