OUR HOUSE

[3rd I sing to the old house of my birth, that of my parents,
that of my grandparents and great-grandparents, that of Vecilla de la Polvorosa]

====

...cracks, the house suffers,
intimately exhausted,
moans…;
Who will come to save her, if we have all been fleeing in search of iron armor,
facing horrors and signs of calamity;
However, one notices that, attached to the walls, that behind the doors
or in the soot of the home, there are violins playing in honor of another famous time,
and that the stones, the vine, the oven, the rim of the well are still alive,
and that also the voice and the air,
still, still... ;
...it is so that, even though they hurt, one returns to the lost roses, to the lilies that were,
to the lilies, to the swallows of the heart;
… I know that there has been a cyclopean, infinite breakup:
but here is the house, waiting for this enormous threat to pass and pass
or undefeated cyclone of death;
“… open the doors, let us shout freedom and let the lilies return,
the lilies and the roses”;
oh voice of love, oh lighthouse or house/light,
oh thirst and vital gift,
oh, oh house, our house.
***
Antonio Justel/Orion of Panthoseas
https://www.oriondepanthoseas.com
***