Mensajera

The first flower in my garden,
beam of light on my stand,
grimaces of winter
in my inner skies.

Maybe, you’re here to help me
or to reveal my whole self.
I kissed the pores of your skin,
tongues of fire from the Guarani.

The ancestral voices,
can be heard in my body.
Perhaps you came to me to see me
in your wise mirror.

Messenger of the Sun,
you bring warmth to the pain
and courage to my fears.
I dared to sing
about what hurt me
and not how I want you.

Brown motherhood,
blue womb under the full moon,
omens of warriors,
witches and sorcerers.
The blood you left here
waters my ground with drops of heaven.

If I want a real kiss,
one that I couldn’t buy,
free as the wind,
ancient and always new,
I have nothing more than to let be what
I will be, naked and true.

Messenger of the Sun...