The Father (2) Poem by Alexandro Johns

There is a forest in the oblivion
where the wind
It forces me to listen words
from the son that I wasn't
of a father without job nor presence,
or is like the murmur of an ascending river
that it doesn't want to die in the sea.

His eyes see through me
women, nostalgia, illusions,
and the time in their road
as a young running amok
that I was lucky not to find him.

I don't repeat aware the lines of his hand
although sometimes, I bump into the shade
who drags my lonely chain of cattle.

The silence of his steps in my childhood nights
it is now only absence who returns without sadness
under the already faint light of the strident arena
where he sent me to fight and to love.