Herib Campos Cerbera

Herib Campos Cerbera. HOME
Herib Campos Cerbera. BALLAD FOR THE ABSENT TREES On the silver road - confused in the shadows - eight killers came with freshly axed axes. On the edge without rust the night wind passes and embraces the foliage to tell them secretly, how eight murderers are coming with freshly axed axes. How the clouds tremble! My God, how they cry the stars and the birds! How innocent the night breaks the voice of her silence with silver music! They stripped their torso. they looked from bottom to top and between the green party, everyone marked his crime. They rose high in the sky Freshly cut irons and when they came down they came back muddy from the mouths of their limbs. neither the clouds nor the birds they were able to blind them. The foliage is shivering as if it were going to die the stars are cold watching the naked iron the water of dawn comes to cry with the moon. The killers fled with their axes like mirrors the birds no longer have where to hang their songs. The wind is moving with tears carrying their dead leaves, while the silver night breaks the voice of her silence with the music of the moon. When was that day again, the presence of an absence for which the sun wept the sorrow of the desert scarf. LONELINESS WITHOUT REMEMBERING – Oh, cloud voice! Oh, Velvet! Giving a name to your music without dissipating moss mists that look at you? Is the voice of an urgent aroma of jasmine and the moon spilled over the blind man walk in the night. Sadness down the stairs to get lost among ancient pines and relief from pains present, mirrors the desolate snow. Leaves open burning his touch, and walking circles in the wind, unsure a snail choose it, and finally back reclined and pale, dead of a silent landscape. And you do not know how to call you, so once again afflicted, climbing paths of the moon and jasmine! Oh, cloud voice! Oh, elusive of absence profile and tears: you die and do not know how to call you! Oh, Velvet!

Herib Campos Cerbera.

BALLAD FOR THE ABSENT TREES

On the silver road
- confused in the shadows -
eight killers came
with freshly axed axes.

On the edge without rust
the night wind passes
and embraces the foliage
to tell them secretly,
how eight murderers are coming
with freshly axed axes.

How the clouds tremble!
My God, how they cry
the stars and the birds!
How innocent the night
breaks the voice of her silence
with silver music!

They stripped their torso.
they looked from bottom to top
and between the green party,
everyone marked his crime.

They rose high in the sky
Freshly cut irons
and when they came down
they came back muddy
from the mouths of their limbs.
neither the clouds nor the birds
they were able to blind them.

The foliage is shivering
as if it were going to die
the stars are cold
watching the naked iron
the water of dawn comes
to cry with the moon.

The killers fled
with their axes like mirrors
the birds no longer have
where to hang their songs.

The wind is moving with tears
carrying their dead leaves,
while the silver night
breaks the voice of her silence
with the music of the moon.

When was that day again,
the presence of an absence
for which the sun wept
the sorrow of the desert scarf.

LONELINESS WITHOUT REMEMBERING –

Oh, cloud voice!
Oh, Velvet!
Giving a name to your music
without dissipating
moss mists that look at you?
Is the voice of an urgent aroma
of jasmine and the moon spilled over
the blind man walk in the night.
Sadness down the stairs
to get lost among ancient pines
and relief from pains present,
mirrors the desolate snow.

Leaves open burning his touch,
and walking circles in the wind,
unsure a snail choose it,
and finally back reclined and pale,
dead of a silent landscape.

And you do not know how to call you,
so once again afflicted,
climbing paths of the moon and jasmine!

Oh, cloud voice!
Oh, elusive of absence profile and tears:
you die and do not know how to call you!
Oh, Velvet!