EL JARDINERO- LAU NOAH

En el filo del alma hay un pétalo rojo
sujeto a las pieles
de mortales que un día jugaron a ser
dioses justos y fieles
un pétalo frágil que bebe el agua
de las historias más crueles

niños que no escucharon nunca un cuento
amores que aman con vestidos de arrepentimiento
cuerpos con años que no disfrutaron la vida
sueño olvidado de mentes ya siempre dormidas

y tú mi bello jardinero, que das a mi pétalo el riego
cuánto miedo me da que me dejes crecer, para arrancarme luego
ver que me arrancarás luego... cómo confiar en..

hombre de corazón frío sin compasión
creador de la guerra adueñado del sol
señor del agua del río del mar, a los dioses te fuiste a olvidar
cómo eres capaz de quererme sin reconocer tu verdad¿
Cómo confiar, cómo confiar...¿

Puede que el alba me lave la cara
y me deje ver con claridad
la belleza del ser humano, termina en cuanto la fe deja de luchar
jardinero si muero es que quise probar

THE GARDENER - LAU NOAH

on the verge of the soul there is a red petal

attached to the skins of mortals who one day

played to be just and faithful gods.

a fragile petal that drinks the water

of the most cruel stories:

children who never heard a fairytale,

lovers who love dressed up with regret.

bodies of old age that did not cherish life,

a forgotten dream in minds that lay always asleep.

and you my beautiful gardener, you,

who provides the aliment to my petal ,

how frightened I am that you leave me to grow

just to tear me later, to see that you would tear me later ...

how to trust?

in man of cold heart bereft of compassion,

creator of the war owner of the sun,

lord of the water of the river of the sea,

it is the gods that you dared to forget.

How are you capable of loving me

without acknowledging your truth?

How to trust, how to trust?

Perhaps the dawn will wash my face

and will let me see clearly:

the beauty of human kind ends as soon as faith

stops fighting.

gardener if I die is because I wanted to try.



On the verge of the soul there is a red petal

attached to the skins of mortals who one day

played to be just and faithful gods.

a fragile petal that drinks the water

of the most cruel stories:

children who never heard a fairytale,

lovers who love dressed up with regret.

bodies of old age that did not cherish life,

a forgotten dream in minds that lay always asleep.

and you my beautiful gardener, you,

who provides the aliment to my petal ,

how frightened I am that you leave me to grow

just to tear me later, to see that you would tear me later ...

how to trust?

in man of cold heart bereft of compassion,

creator of the war owner of the sun,

lord of the water of the river of the sea,

it is the gods that you dared to forget.

How are you capable of loving me

without acknowledging your truth?

How to trust, how to trust?

Perhaps the dawn will wash my face

and will let me see clearly:

the beauty of human kind ends as soon as faith

stops fighting.

gardener if I die is because I wanted to try.