Luz, Luz Caraballo, how good life was then!
In the wilderness, always has enjoyed the cold and silence. It was well before you were born, and remained so after your death. Even when men perish from the earth, long after life into silence, silence and the cold will remain the masters of the wilderness.
In December, the mountains are decorated with flowers frailejones wearing their yellow light, but that you no longer important fact since you lost your illusions of life. As a child, everything was color and joy: the dogs played happily, jumping between the shores of the erratic streams, friends brought their mules to graze the green pastures of the lake, tourists have not ruined with the freshness of contamination valleys, and the fireplace of your rammed earth house still smelling the smoke coming out of that green, wet wood that your father picked up every afternoon. Life was simple then: games, time, peace, silence ... the singing of the birds and the trout in the river, the natural charm of the surrounding your life simple and quiet, secluded and happy.
But you were growing up, like all children of the earth, your fifteenth birthday and met a local guide who took you by force on the back of his horse, a little cabin in ruins you could never forget. Torrential rain outside, but inside that cabin throughout the frigid cold and silent night wasteland, broke and again in the fiery passion hugs exchanged overnight. He was the man in your life, you were glad your fantasies as a child, the more tender that accompanies your childhood dreams. He was the prince of those stories nobody ever told you, but deep inside your imagination intuited all along. He was the savior of your loneliness, the Almighty would take you by the hand from a soft, happy childhood, until the intense heat of passion maturity.
Without telling your parents, you went to the man who, with an old backpack on his shoulders, emerged from the shadows, and I promised all those things they knew nothing, of which you've never heard but still craved and put you to shake. You went on a Tuesday night on his horse, clutching at his back as if he were the very Atlas and I held onto a universe of fear of the unknown, closing his eyes because they no longer need them most, as he would for you and for you. Not sorry to leave your parents, who were so tired of his hard life that may never be noticed by your absence, which may come to doubt, given the silence of your game, if you were a real girl or just the result of a mute those dreams are not remembered upon waking. You went in silence, without saying goodbye to friends you never had, or the rag doll that I sewed your mom, and now wait for ever under a wooden bed that would never be yours. You left your nest, Light, proud and vital, you opened your wings to fly away, and it was then, clinging with all your strength to the back of your executioner and Titan, when you felt for the first time in your heart pounding chest .
The chimeras were maintained beyond the patience and love. Reached the time to have five children, each with pin hope in the chest, and a star of love on his forehead. Were five children, Luz, results of five nights of passion, which you give what little you had left, and he received in exchange for keeping on your side for another day. But when the last born, this tiny man who barely listened mourn, on the same day, even though you died alone and almost bled to death in the rural outpatient bys, although your other children were just babies could walk, your man of dreams I left. He left for good, without last words, without having the courage to say a "goodbye" to pity, looking into your eyes. It was like he came on his black horse, with the same old knapsack on his shoulder, and trotted into the shadows, without taking anything, despite how much you took.
However, you set out to fight, despite being in mourning. Your children did not have anyone else, so I forced to be strong and carry them out by all means. A day laborer was working, other will sleeping with the owner of a nice farm in exchange for food or medicine for them, the next day cleaning floors in a restaurant in town, or simply you were asking for some alms to the travelers who stopped in Mucuchíes to eat cakes of wheat or enjoy the whispers of the moor. At night, your children checked to verify that were good, they were full, and after feeding in any way with what you could and try to cure their wounds with your hands, your kisses and your love, you were sleeping exhausted, dreaming of Prince Charming coming to save you from a deep tunnel of misery where you went without realizing it.
In return for favors and jobs, did you raise some sheep, eternal companions, whose milk feed your children, and whose wool coats. Every day dragged them out to graze on the farms of the rich, and nobody had ever so hard-hearted as to throw you with stones of your land, or you, poor woman, or your friends sheep.
Time passed, and either fever, vomiting, shock, or the evil moor, took two of your sons, the youngest children and fragile. It died quietly, without complaint, like his father was gone from your life. The other two, tired of poverty and eager to know the world that lay beyond the mountains, joined one of the federal guerrillas passing through the fields with which innocent recruiting to fill the front rows of the battalions for fighting, and never to hear back from them. Your daughter, perhaps both see men entering and leaving your room at the ranch, ended up losing respect for the love and dignity, and sold his body for a few miserable dollars with which to shovel their ancestral hunger.
So, now old, finished staying single, Light, accompanied only by your carneritos cotton. But eventually led to them also, and your farm land and palm, and even your deepest hopes and dreams. In the end, I was nothing, Luz Caraballo, save your legs, and the sad possibility of counting the days until the arrival of your death. And then when you started with the eternal journey, from Chachopo to bys, and from Apartaderos to Chachopo, not for themselves nothing, neither here nor there, because nobody expected anywhere, but running away with your own thoughts and those ghosts past that did not fully shut. By day, under sunlight, we have formed with frailejones, distant rocks and cliffs, and at night, and did not see where you even set foot, I had no choice not to tell the little star in the sky. And that's how I met the farmers who did not know your origin and your destination, Luz, who eventually baptized the mad, mad wandering, and your name and behavior became myth that grew from word of mouth, from man to man , up to the genius of a poet who managed to turn your misery into immortality.
Luz Caraballo's crazy. Andrés E.
White.
"The fingers of your hands,
the toes of your feet,
one, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten ...
In Chachopo to walk bys
Luz Caraballo, May
with violets,
With carneritos January;
glaciers Winters, Farallon
your summers, cold Andean With
,
between jumps and bustle, you will be putting
ugly
The fingers of your hands ... The summit will
limited
The single breath
What name you
That is the man who knows where you live ...
Five years since you wrote, Ten years
not you see;
bumps and stumbling And among your sheep
Chasing You are getting ugly
The fingers of your feet ... Hunger leads
in their horns Cotton
your sheep ... Your account hats
illusion accounts
While you guys:
One female and four males.
Rise, fall and jump;
And when asked for your hard
Frailejón to forget you are dealt Anxiety
One, two, three, four, five ...
Your daughter is in a harem, you
Two children died
The other two were
you behind a man on horseback ...
La Luz Caraballo crazy!
judge's decree says
because I once found
no children and no sheep,
contandito the stars,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten ... "
But you were growing up, like all children of the earth, your fifteenth birthday and met a local guide who took you by force on the back of his horse, a little cabin in ruins you could never forget. Torrential rain outside, but inside that cabin throughout the frigid cold and silent night wasteland, broke and again in the fiery passion hugs exchanged overnight. He was the man in your life, you were glad your fantasies as a child, the more tender that accompanies your childhood dreams. He was the prince of those stories nobody ever told you, but deep inside your imagination intuited all along. He was the savior of your loneliness, the Almighty would take you by the hand from a soft, happy childhood, until the intense heat of passion maturity.
Without telling your parents, you went to the man who, with an old backpack on his shoulders, emerged from the shadows, and I promised all those things they knew nothing, of which you've never heard but still craved and put you to shake. You went on a Tuesday night on his horse, clutching at his back as if he were the very Atlas and I held onto a universe of fear of the unknown, closing his eyes because they no longer need them most, as he would for you and for you. Not sorry to leave your parents, who were so tired of his hard life that may never be noticed by your absence, which may come to doubt, given the silence of your game, if you were a real girl or just the result of a mute those dreams are not remembered upon waking. You went in silence, without saying goodbye to friends you never had, or the rag doll that I sewed your mom, and now wait for ever under a wooden bed that would never be yours. You left your nest, Light, proud and vital, you opened your wings to fly away, and it was then, clinging with all your strength to the back of your executioner and Titan, when you felt for the first time in your heart pounding chest .
The chimeras were maintained beyond the patience and love. Reached the time to have five children, each with pin hope in the chest, and a star of love on his forehead. Were five children, Luz, results of five nights of passion, which you give what little you had left, and he received in exchange for keeping on your side for another day. But when the last born, this tiny man who barely listened mourn, on the same day, even though you died alone and almost bled to death in the rural outpatient bys, although your other children were just babies could walk, your man of dreams I left. He left for good, without last words, without having the courage to say a "goodbye" to pity, looking into your eyes. It was like he came on his black horse, with the same old knapsack on his shoulder, and trotted into the shadows, without taking anything, despite how much you took.
However, you set out to fight, despite being in mourning. Your children did not have anyone else, so I forced to be strong and carry them out by all means. A day laborer was working, other will sleeping with the owner of a nice farm in exchange for food or medicine for them, the next day cleaning floors in a restaurant in town, or simply you were asking for some alms to the travelers who stopped in Mucuchíes to eat cakes of wheat or enjoy the whispers of the moor. At night, your children checked to verify that were good, they were full, and after feeding in any way with what you could and try to cure their wounds with your hands, your kisses and your love, you were sleeping exhausted, dreaming of Prince Charming coming to save you from a deep tunnel of misery where you went without realizing it.
In return for favors and jobs, did you raise some sheep, eternal companions, whose milk feed your children, and whose wool coats. Every day dragged them out to graze on the farms of the rich, and nobody had ever so hard-hearted as to throw you with stones of your land, or you, poor woman, or your friends sheep.
Time passed, and either fever, vomiting, shock, or the evil moor, took two of your sons, the youngest children and fragile. It died quietly, without complaint, like his father was gone from your life. The other two, tired of poverty and eager to know the world that lay beyond the mountains, joined one of the federal guerrillas passing through the fields with which innocent recruiting to fill the front rows of the battalions for fighting, and never to hear back from them. Your daughter, perhaps both see men entering and leaving your room at the ranch, ended up losing respect for the love and dignity, and sold his body for a few miserable dollars with which to shovel their ancestral hunger.
So, now old, finished staying single, Light, accompanied only by your carneritos cotton. But eventually led to them also, and your farm land and palm, and even your deepest hopes and dreams. In the end, I was nothing, Luz Caraballo, save your legs, and the sad possibility of counting the days until the arrival of your death. And then when you started with the eternal journey, from Chachopo to bys, and from Apartaderos to Chachopo, not for themselves nothing, neither here nor there, because nobody expected anywhere, but running away with your own thoughts and those ghosts past that did not fully shut. By day, under sunlight, we have formed with frailejones, distant rocks and cliffs, and at night, and did not see where you even set foot, I had no choice not to tell the little star in the sky. And that's how I met the farmers who did not know your origin and your destination, Luz, who eventually baptized the mad, mad wandering, and your name and behavior became myth that grew from word of mouth, from man to man , up to the genius of a poet who managed to turn your misery into immortality.
Luz Caraballo's crazy. Andrés E.
White.
"The fingers of your hands,
the toes of your feet,
one, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten ...
In Chachopo to walk bys
Luz Caraballo, May
with violets,
With carneritos January;
glaciers Winters, Farallon
your summers, cold Andean With
,
between jumps and bustle, you will be putting
ugly
The fingers of your hands ... The summit will
limited
The single breath
What name you
That is the man who knows where you live ...
Five years since you wrote, Ten years
not you see;
bumps and stumbling And among your sheep
Chasing You are getting ugly
The fingers of your feet ... Hunger leads
in their horns Cotton
your sheep ... Your account hats
illusion accounts
While you guys:
One female and four males.
Rise, fall and jump;
And when asked for your hard
Frailejón to forget you are dealt Anxiety
One, two, three, four, five ...
Your daughter is in a harem, you
Two children died
The other two were
you behind a man on horseback ...
La Luz Caraballo crazy!
judge's decree says
because I once found
no children and no sheep,
contandito the stars,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten ... "
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