Naked on the sand, humiliated
by men seemingly brave, I've been brought to you, dragged, but truly, they are wounded hearts.
Where do you look, Jesus, as they accuse me, while my flesh is cold and trembling, perhaps they will not withstand the wound, nor adorn my life like the rose.
Where do you hide, Jesus, your eyes, so as not to humiliate me with my skin in the wind, or perhaps not to make a show of those brave before my despoilment.
Look at me, Jesus, now that my accusers have departed, and my wounded soul, as before, wants now to rest in your tender arms.
What were you writing, Jesus, in the sand, while my soul, naked with sorrow, between tears and cold glances, feared bleeding among the rocks.
What do you say? To test yourself, the negligent men of sin, while my bones were pierced, and now, innocently, they cast glances.
What do you say? Divine face, that I never experienced great pleasure, not even near wine, and even less now in comparison.
Look at me, Jesus, now and give me the light of your gaze, to lift me from my bitterness, and embark on the retreat.
What do you say? Jesus, now...
Jesús Hernando Camacho Mosquera(AI)
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario