This fainthearted and gloomy rain 

like a suffering child, 

before touching the Earth, 

dies.

Quiet the tree, quiet the wind, 

and within the stupendous silence 

these fine, bitter tears 

falling!

The sky is like an immense heart 

that opens, bitter.

It is not raining: it is a slow

and long bloodletting.

Inside the house, 

men don't feel this bitterness, 

this shipment of sad water 

from on high.

This long and weary descent 

of conquered waters 

to the prone, exhausted Earth.

It rains, and like a miserable jackal, 

night lurks in the sierra. 

What is going to surge 

in the shadow of the Earth?

Will you sleep

while outdoors it falls,

suffering, this inert water, 

this lethal water, sister of Death?

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Page last edited February 14, 2000
by: PhoneBoy