Magazine Posts

I'm laying awake,
looking at thee,
when I remember,
my thoughts tenderly,
of when we met
so many years ago.
How our life's changed,
today in this World,
but when I see you,
you're still a young girl.

Rose is the flower,
you wore in your hair,
when our life was of love,
not of todays despair.
What cruel fate is
here on this day,
when we are now,
in the middle of May?
Where have you gone,
what will you say,
when you no longer recall
all of our yesterdays?

The day has started
with a burning Sun.
I would enjoy the weather
if I were still young.

Tell me father.
Please tell me why,
all men who live,
may soon die.
The time for death
comes in many ways.
Some leave at night
others, in simple days.
Life is a precious journey,
towards a star,
of our choosing,
that's what we are.

We march together,
but die alone,
from life's beginning
until it is done.

When the storm passes
and the roads are tamed,
and we are the survivors
of a collective shipwreck.

With a weeping heart
and a blessed destiny 
we will feel happy
just for being alive.

And we will hug
the first stranger
and praise the luck 
of not having lost a friend.

And then we'll remember
everything we lost
And all at once we will learn
all we had not learned before

We will no longer be envious 
because we have all suffered
We will no longer be lazy
And will be more compassionate 

What belongs to all will be worth more 
than that never achieved
We will be more generous
and much more committed 

We will understand how fragile
it means to be alive.
We will sweat empathy
for who is and who has left.

We will miss the old man
asking for a dollar in the market
we didn't know his name
although he was next to us

And perhaps the poor old man
was your God in disguise.
You never asked for his name
because you were in a hurry.

And everything will be a miracle
And everything will be legacy.
And life will be respected,
the life we have won.

When the storm passes
I ask God, full of sadness 
to return us to be better
as he had dreamed we would be.

Translation of Alexis Valdés  poem "Esperanza" (Hope) written in Spanish in March 2020 about the humanitarian crisis brought "by the Coronavirus and the "hope" of how we will feel when the "Storm Passes" ("Cuando pase la tormenta"  -  Esperanza)

Alexis Valdés is a Cuban composer, singer, musician and poet residing in Miami. Translated by CP

The Moon; silver disk up high.
Reflecting moon beams
across a flat sky.
No clouds to obstruct our view,
enjoyment is ours when
I watch it with you.
You are my light,
you are my Sun
the Mother of all
where our life's begun.

For want of love,
I search for you,
but you are gone,
where, you only know.
You disappear as you,
most often now do,
thinking of what now,
if only I knew.

Be still my love.
Be still tonight.
Hold on strong,
with all your might.
This current phase
of our lives,
soon will pass.
We'll look back
and be amazed
that we survived
these worst of days.

Where to begin?
Where will I start,
for the breaking
of one's own heart.
Losing a loved one,
even I, as a fool
cannot escape from
or use a tool.
The emotions I express
mean nothing to me,
so I must confess,
why then the tear,
for something this sad,
it's what I must bear.

Through the window
of colored glass,
I spy the Moon,
three quarters past.
A clear, cloudless,
kind of night
of what I see
within my sight.

New plants, push through the soil,
because of last Fall's planting toil.