Scream

If they tell you I wasn't living.

If they tell you my skin was never aroused by your touch
and my lips never kissed you.
If they tell you my eyes never watered
at the presence of your loving
caress.

If they tell you I wasn't free
If they tell you I never flew
and couldn't scare butterflies
or smell the fresh droplets
in the early morning.
If they tell you I never embraced
the sentences that plunged
out of your anguished
throat.

If they tell you I couldn't love you.
If they say life is shortened
when one wants to live.
If they tell you my laugh
the one you never heard
no one ever has.

Tell them it wasn't true.
Tell them it was a lie.
Scream!,
scream because I can't.

Scream out I am real,
tell them I can feel.
Scream out I am happy,
tell them I am still alive.

                                                             To Nerea


Trad. del poema "Grita" de Miguel A. Brito.
Traducción: Cindia y Sergio Escalante Vinuesa.