The Sower
From that corner bathed by the flashes
of the sun that fills our triumphant sky;
from the flowering earth where among flowers
my sweet and serene infancy slipped in,
wrapped in the memories of my past
which is blurred in the distant horizon;
I watch the strange specimen, never forgotten,
of the oddest sower there was on the mountain.
I still don't know if he was wise, crazy or prudent,
that man who was dressed in humble attire;
I only know that on looking at him, everyone
regarded him with deep respect.
And it's perhaps that his stern and noble gesture
astonished all for being arrogant:
Even the woodsmen looking at the oak tree
feel the majesties of the giant!
One autumn afternoon I went up to the mountain
and as I looked at the sower, I watched smiling.
Ever since men existed on the earth
none have toiled with such determination!
I wanted to know, curious, what the madman
planted on the mountain lone and brave.
The poor wretch listened to me kindly
and said with deep melancholy:
"I plant flowers, pines and sycamores;
I want to fill this hill with fronds,
I want others to enjoy the treasures
that these plants will give when I die."
"Why so much effort in a day's work without
seeking reward?", I said. And the madman
murmured, with his hands on the hoe:
-"Maybe you think that I am mistaken;
perhaps, being a boy, it really amazes you
the unlimited impulse that ignites my soul;
for those who do not work, I work and struggle;
if the world does not know it, God understands me!"
Today selfishness is the stupid master
to whom we pay homage in several ways:
if we pray, we ask solely for our own bread.
Never to heaven do we ask for bread for everyone!
In our own misery, eyes fixed,
we look for riches that are in our own interest
and we confront everything for our children.
Is it perhaps that other parents don't have children?
We live being brothers in name only
and in brutal wars, with thirst for thievery.
There is always a fratricidal within man;
and the man, for man, is always a wolf.
That is why when I contemplate on this sad world,
I labor and impose on myself a rough job
and I know that my poor example is worth a lot,
though poor and humble it seems and is.
We must fight for those who do not fight!
We must demand for all those who do not beg!
We must make those who do not listen to hear us!
We must cry for all who do not cry!
We must be like the bees in the hive
that make for all, sweet honeycombs.
We must be like the water that flows serenely
offering the whole world fresh streams.
We must imitate the wind that plants flowers,
the same in the mountain as in the plains.
We must live life sowing loves,
with the sight and the soul always in exaltation."
Said the madman, and with noble melancholy,
through the thicket of the mountain he continued climbing
and on losing himself in the shadows, still repeating:
"We must live sowing, always planting!..."
Translated by Freda
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