When your love withered
Like the ephemeral rose
At the end of the day,
Began to be written
The book of my tears.
In the hidden pages
Of the compendium of my cries
A leaf is revealed,
Revealing the enigma
Of your name.
Every single drop
That escaped my eyes
Was a fallen star,
Shaping a thousand constellations
Of laments that illuminate
The night of sorrow
In my afflicted soul.
Some tears are
Like liquid mirrors,
Reflecting the emotion
Of my moaning story.
In their course they drag me
Like a river without an end.
The chapter of misfortune
Discovers words that dance
Like butterflies emerging
From cocoons of sadness.
They drag me down
With their force into abyss.
Many tears drown me
In their invisible ink,
While I hide
The deep secrets
That only you could sublimate
Into an inimitable
Work of art of tenderness.
I desperately long for
My final tear
To write in the white
Of the score of your days.
So that you know
That the symphony of my chest
Will grow green one day,
And that I will burn
Every branch of your tree,
Every leaf of your book
In the story of my life.
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