Para a pequena Xulia
Antes de deitarme soño
con alas e correntes térmicas
nas que flotar maxestoso
*
esperto no corredor do formigueiro
arrastrando as lealtades
concienciudamente
*
durmo e soño o soño do pobre
que nin no máis íntimo se atreve
a asomarse á beira do mar
*
“o que cargas, miña filla, no lombo
son as nosas alas, co poder
de tornar unha poza en océano”
*
Family
*
Before I go to bed I dream
of wings and thermal currents
in which to float majestically
*
I awake in the corridor of the anthill
dragging loyalties
conscientiously
*
I sleep and dream the dream of the poor man
who dares not even in his innermost self
to look out at the seashore
*
“what you carry on your back, my daughter,
are our wings, with the power
to turn a puddle into an ocean”
abel abilheira 
Intriguing, Abel!
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Hmm, sometimes I think that what I write should be understood, but I see that it is not so. Thank you very much for making me see it!
I have a three-year-old niece and I thought that she was going to have the same conflicts as me, wanting to dream like an eagle in the sky but ending up like an ant underground. In the end, the burden of family loyalties that the ant carries can become wings with which to achieve what we set out to do.
Thanks for your comment
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