Because you are my land…
… the light is your identity and your quest; so harsh and hard yet so beautiful and infinite, so necessary that my heart is too small to house the depth of your greed.
Because you are my land… I lend you my voice and the vessels of my heart so that -like a windowsill- you open to the world; after you, my human adventure transcends as you lie in wait like a traveller’s testamentary, able to give me education, culture and knowledge in words as I sleep dreaming of your landscapes and history.
And to live without a shield in this slow death which is life: you, my land. I love you so extensively, I driving the knife of your beauty within me and you offering me the torch to guide me through the vast domain of your countryside; in the war of earth and heaven are your watch towers and my agora.
Because you are my land… I open my arms when you whisper sieges, cadavers, attacks, prisons, exiles and sorrow, or the useless valour that only your silence knows. Your history is my history and it has knifed me with its cutlasses. And you -jealous for the truth- move your hands over the clay of my genesis… I thus, raise the spirit of your sites –today unanimated forests- and I enlarge you to the mystery from other interior worlds.
Because you are my land… your nude rivers over the rivers of my reasoning; the light is your identity and your quest; so harsh and hard yet so beautiful and infinite, so necessary that my heart is too small to house the depth of your greed.
The ancient humus of your womb proves enough for my heart; the astonishment proves enough, the roots, the loyalty to your genes and the devotion… The entire awakeness of my eyes is pinned on your fields!
It is enough for me to light up the last fires. The moon is awake. I will be awake gazing at the fairground wheel of hours; as my lips are ready for you and they will follow you beyond borders and boundaries…
Because you are my land… my core ego speaks or shouts. It would be enough for me to refuse you if I did not have the passion of your blood, if these words –that are light and outcry and loneliness- did not help to support my humble bones over this titanic Campo de Montiel!
So much reality and so many dreams need to be experienced!
Juan José Guardia Polaino