Encontros (gl – en)

Podo abrir a fiestra e deixar que o derradeiro aire de novembro
varra as sombras que quedan aínda agarradas nos recunchos solitarios
do meu peito

Antes había fins de semana que adicaba a escapar da vida polos bares:
era só unha rotonda onde podías xirar felizmente toda a vida
en modo degradado

Agora hai días libres que adico a recibir visitas complicadas mais inaprazábeis
os mensaxeiros aparecen de súpeto, agachados tras un feito aparentemente banal
e non se poden esquivar, nin pechar os ollos e rezar para que desaparezan.

Así que respiro e lles poño a mellor das miñas caras e comeza a contenda
sendo por veces tan dura que podo saber que aínda todo é posibel
porque sigo a respirar. Todo aínda é posibel.

Cando os mensaxeiros encontran no fondo profundo de min aquelo que procuraban
arríncano coas suas tenaces e arrastrando tripas de sangue e victoria 
afástanse saciados deixando o caos a zoar no horizonte

Véndoo como unha araña que observa a escea dende unha esquina do teito
quizáis non exista a derrota, a satisfacción de ter aprendido a cortar hedras de tronco groso
e si, tamén uns microcristais circulando polas veas recordatório do acontecido.

Encounters

I can open the window and let the last air of November 
sweep away the shadows that still cling to the lonely corners
of my chest

Before, there were weekends I spent escaping life through bars: 
it was just a roundabout where you could happily spin your whole life 
in degraded mode

Now there are days off that I spend receiving complicated but unavoidable visits
the messengers appear suddenly, crouching behind a seemingly banal event
and they cannot be dodged, nor can you close your eyes and pray that they will disappear.

So I breathe and put on my best face and the fight begins
sometimes so hard that I can know that anything is still possible
because I am still breathing. Everything is still possible.

When the messengers find deep inside me what they were looking for
they tear it out with their pliers and drag guts of blood and victory
they walk away sated leaving chaos to roam on the horizon

Seeing it like a spider observing the scene from a corner of the ceiling
maybe there is no defeat, the satisfaction of having learned to cut thick-stemmed ivy
and yes, also some microcrystals circulating through the veins as a reminder of what happened.