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Poetry of Issue #8
            Spanish Featured: Page 6

A Hummingbird Looks for his Flower in the City
             A Guido Cabrerizo y Dharma Padrón

Todo cura todo sana
todo tiene medicina dentro, ay ay ay (bis)

Upon flapping its wings with force
the ears understand the languages of Eden.
They are seeds of gardens planted in the heart.

Orchard that feeds the blood,
the fruit that nourishes the eyes with color,
the sacred word that constructs in ignorance the world,
                                                           one time and another, another time after another,
the respect before the leaf,
the courage of the warrior,
the call of duty with the paintbrush
                                 and the artist is silenced upon hearing the notes of wisdom,
the beast wallows before the death of the flower,
the hummingbird keeps calm, he hides it under its fluttering wings
                                                           as far as the dimension of happiness,
in the place where smiles rain and hair is soaked in bliss,
filling lakes with euphoria,
dragging the bad vibe to the limit,
where the sky ends
and the child becomes a man to say goodbye to his mother.

Todo tiene agua dentro, todo tiene viento dentro,
todo tiene tierra dentro, todo tiene fuego dentro ay ay ay ay...

Beyond the gloom exists hatred,
a hell made up by greed
where man finds comfort in sailing over men,
where dignity didn’t extend its pastures,
and the essence never grew roots,
where the lack of liquid creates deserts
                                               and its existence,
                       so necessary for the trials of the soul and the scorpions,
it has proven that character is moulded in difficulty,
for it is there where it melts and forges infinity.

Todo tiene medicina dentro, llevo llevo medicina dentro,
llevo llevo el universo dentro ay ay ay ay....

The forgotten rock is reclaimed by the mother jungle,
the written poem has fun from tongue to tongue
                                               jumping between ears to elude oblivion.

We once intended to be eternal and forgot about time
until it took it upon itself to remind us
                                   that the only door to glory is love,
for signatures are the first to vanish from paper.

That egos belong to the region of rashes,
that the metal plates are also subject
                                                            to the putrefaction of bacteria,
that fulfillment is an exhalation
                                   that one must enjoy,
                                                            as the last one.

  Nicolás Linares