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It would be necessary to flower a tomb,
To the unknown child;
Put down the flowers of evil, of good
Love and disaffection;
Passion red roses,
Winter roses blooming in the ice and frustration. We should honor
The unknown child
Who is not born
Which barely happens
Who is kneaded of the possible and the impossible.
You should sing,
For the unknown child,
A light song, that of the unexpected,
A heavy and serious song,
That of disenchantment that hinders.
We should linger
On his grave
Remember Desire
Who brought him in,
And why And how
Who killed him.
Look at the grip of life on itself,
Feel its power,
Taste the good, too, the peaceful and the sense, Choice made and assumed.
You should remember,
From the old couple who didn't want to,
Lover and mistress
Who couldn't;
Woman's body
Where it didn't hang;
Hesitant and indecisive
Who did not know;
Of the prostitute's child
And it was better not;
We should remember these children
Unnamed, without becoming.
You should look without lying,
The army of unknown children Like a ghost mass
Who haunts and speaks to us,
Threatens us with his mute mouth,
Erased, informs.
You should look her in the face,
And hear,
His slow steps, Exit
From the heart of our black valley,
Where desire and refusal copulate,
Where despair strangles hope,
Where want and give up kiss.
What came out of this lair?
Can we name it?
I will give,
To the unknown child,
A set for his anonymity
Terrifying flowers of radiance
A dissonant and raw hymn,
A mausoleum of bare earth,
Deep, with a fertile scent.
Life has traced its subtle path, in him,
Magnified the chaos of the black valley,
Then fell back into the unspeakable well,
Where the evidence breaks down, beyond the mirror.
