Dios salve al rey

I would long for the pleasure of believing that in heaven
someone is waiting for me
after the cross.
That's why I hang my skin in my throat,
I sense that very soon I will be older
and my grave far away... next to Montesquieu.

I know that anarchy is rotten freedom
and slim democracies like bonsai trees,
that there are dictatorships disguised as poetry,
that sadness is drugged with joy,
and in revolutions... times to wait.

How difficult to remove or put
or wash or stain
where time has painted
More atheist than the sun
I arm myself with love
and shout with my effort.

God, please, save the king,
from forgetting those who lie to him.
Please, save the king,
from silencing the people.
For the carelessness of a reasonless forgetfulness,
there are wounds in the souls
an entire generation.
I ask:

God, please, save the king,
for we are different equals.
Please, save the king,
for in his hands go life and death,
for after them new lives will remain,
pleading the same to you
about the king who comes next.

Art survives all governments.
Without governments, art struggles to exist.
Headless, one cannot even reach winter,
headless, it seems rough even to the tender.
To live like trees, I believe is not to live.