Sonnet To My Muses Poem by Alexandro Johns

I stopped writing at the age of twenty.
The Poetry, I thought, had no future
Like a women living close to black holes,
And her light would become myself a dark person.

My friends celebrated the extinction of my muses.
They said that Neruda would die of natural causes,
That the progress would be with weapons to the shoulder,
Full of shining caverns, and The History would reach its end.

But my muses always survive with passion,
After forty years they speak to me.
No matters for them the denial of poetry nor the horror:

'We come back, they whisper, where there are no innocent persons
Because we have never been maidens.
Allow us to embrace you again as an old man of green pen.'