I speak to God from the ground under the flowers (Hablo a Dios desde la tierra bajo las flores)

Life and death were recurring themes in my father’s creation. In tonight’s poem from his book Commemorations (Conmemoraciones), he juxtaposes faith, gratitude and a little stoicism, in a time in which, as a practitioner of criminal law in Colombia, his life was truly on the line.

Dad passed away one year ago today but the love he irradiated to his wife, children and grandchildren remains…and his literary legacy, well, that’s my job to keep alive.

To my Dad, my rock, my hero, on his first anniversary:

I speak to God from the ground under the flowers (Hablo a Dios desde la tierra bajo las flores)

…and I commemorate myself.

From the bottom of soil and cement

where you placed me this afternoon;

under the surface

that you covered with flowers and grass;

and from the stone with only my name

and the date without epitaph

and still dazed by all the praise

of the speeches never thought of

prior to the posthumous eloquence,

and certain of the future life and the present,

and because the priest said in loud voice

that the one who believes in Christ,

will never die, if to die

is this covering with soil the fragility

of being and of not being and knowing it,

I thank you for everything that you did

on the boundary of my new residence

and for the long years shared

with so much love spent without measure,

for the things that we never discussed

and for believing in me

and for my belief in you in the same fashion,

because together we achieved victory

over the anguish of the vain dreams

and we were walkers of a road

made so short by its beauty.

When the sobs stop,

I will still thank you.

Then my people

will allow the smile to change the typical bitter expression
of the pain of the absence.

You must attend to its handicap

on the initial days.

But, yet, the principal task is to defend them

of all shadows including the memories

and to try and forget and to show them,

certainly at a new pace,

but vivaciously and exempted from bad memories

or from good memories clouded with bitterness.

Know that I am happy, that I thank you,

and that I ask you for an applause

for those who were glad that I died

and who did not know that in their resentments

they finally agreed with me.

1960