Blanca Varela (1926-2009)

So It Shall Be

The day stays behind,
scarcely spent and already useless.
The great light commences,
all the doors open before
a sleeping man,
time is a tree incessantly growing.
Time,
the great half-open door,
the blinding star.
It is not with eyes one sees the birth
of that drop of light that will be,
that was a day.
Sing, bee, unhurried,
traverse the illumined labyrinth,
on a party.
Breathe and sing.
Where everything ends spread your wings.
You are the sun,
the morning’s sting,
the sea kissing the mountains,
the total clarity,
the dream.