Who knows proud strength rests in the darkened heart
of you, that burns to show, unwearyingly,
a black fire of blood? Who, direct, is part
of me in a hot brush of skin, sharing
anger and laughter and unfreezing grief?
Who flames that fading argument with just
and wild rebellion, and who wakes belief
for the lost children, the unremembered dust?
Unceasingly who is aware these sleep,
raging before the revolution come
to fund that cause: within a cobra deep
midnight sharpening brave the world's new tongue?
To find that way, who unafraid will go
through desert pain, is you: y te quiero. |
