STORIES OF MY TRIBE
1. The ancient people still glow underground.
The fish and the shells are their letters to the day.
The stones glimmer at night.
The heart of the earth is their bride.
They dream of another god
who long ago rendered her chest.
You know, our brotherhood is devoted to the lightning.
Such a gift no other land upholds.
2. In ancient mountains
darkness is burning,
Rocks struggle;
proud are their necks
and their foreheads open
toward the starry night
like child’s eyes.
In this world there are no veils
and nothing happens twice.
A green sound rules
and seas arise
cruelly, with no coast.
All is a whistling and still
no one exists.
We are brothers, one blood,
one feat,
with no reward, yet wild.
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