Open the window and listen to the nightingale of King David,
His ecclesial song baptizes those who long for his presence,
A bristle harmony that greets the vagabond,
A celestial Melody that awakens the homeless beggar.
Open the window and listen to the nightingale of King David,
who brings the cloak made of camel hairs,
the sweet fragrance of wild honey,
And narrates the death of John.
From the bottom of Galilee his sacred lip,
rambles before the arrival of the messiah,
proclaims the building of Jerusalem,
And in his song certainty longs for the arrival of God.
Who is this angel who tells the story of Herodias?
That brings his head on a painful plate,
That regrets in twilight of sunset,
A delirious heavenly blindness.
A flightless Cherub,
Reborn to sing the wisdom of Solomon,
messenger crying out from an exiled desert,
To proclaim forgiveness of sin,
baptized in the Holy Spirit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem