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 Vin