Para ti madre

Blessed was that time of marvelous childhood,
childhood of gold and honey, blessed age of ingenuity,
the world was an Eden where goodness reigned
and full of illusion the heart was happy.
Maternal caress, loyal and generous hand,
unparalleled tenderness, ideal, rose-colored world.
Of the fortunate yesterday only the memory remained,
hard and cruel life has already taught me what pain is.

My bleeding heart I have
in the cruelest sorrow,
it misses the good warmth of the nest
and in the song
its emotion pours out.
Evocation of the lost good
is for you the song
and to caress your ears
the beats of my heart
of my heart.

Now that you are gone, I feel you deeper in my soul
and no one will ever be able to erase your faithful image.
Now that you are not here, the anguish is so tenacious
of having been, perhaps, once a little cruel.
The echo of your voice, which is the voice of God, vibrates in my ear
and is an encouraging breath that gives courage to the dejected.
Your immaterial kiss brushes my temples
and although you are not here, very maternal you watch over me.