Today is the day of Sant Jordi,
day of my two passions:
a book and a rose,
colorful roses.
the rose to me
captive by her beauty and scent,
if I have it in my hands
of pleasure, it gives me pain.
If it is red, passion and fire,
fragrance is singular.
It saddens my soul if it starts to wilt.
The
book because it tells me stories of long history,
I introduce myself in its pages
and squeezed into my memory.
In
those sleepless nights when my thoughts flow,
are those that hurt me
are fleeing past.
and rummaging through my books, their pages
asleep, I sink
between letters
they control my flight.
When my dying rose petals
and defoliated,
my
book between the pages one by one, the hosts. Impregnating
letters in your fond
cooing sweet dreams
blanket on his bed murmuring.
Manuela Ramos Llera
