Tomorrow Triumphant

I am convinced.
Tomorrow other poets will search
for love and words asleep
in the rain.
It’s possible they will come
with eye sockets empty
to be filled with landscape and sea.
Today, bitterness and misery
circle my pockets
opened in the night
to the stars.

Tomorrow, for my joy chiming
in the walls,
the bride will hold her most beautiful bell
fashioned from sea and sand
from rain and panorama.

Tomorrow, rivers will love me
for having posted propaganda
in the nighttime of my country:
they will entrust themselves
with remembering my name.
And with her smiling face
the most humble peasant girl
will write the love poems
that didn’t leave my throat.

The face of a nourished child
will write about what stopped
.the battle cry in my arteries.

Flying between the foam,
doves will be tears of love
that have not trembled on my eyelids.

Tomorrow, when they don’t intervene in Central America
to encircle a smile with shadows
and they don’t want to halt the red star
quetzals carry on their breasts:
then, with bushes of roses
poets will sign their song.

  • trans. by David Volpendesta