MY MOTHER VISITED ME

CAMPO ANÍBAL JIMÉNEZ SILVA

CAMPO ANÍBAL JIMÉNEZ SILVA - BARRANQUILLA (COLOMBIA)

I don't interest to the world
for that am a prisoner.
Locked in four walls,
without friends neither money.

I take the pencil in my hand
to write these letters.
They are for my dear mother,
that it is far from this earth.

When this arrives to your hands
and calmly your you read it,
you will know that I am
between grills and chains.

What my son could make
to have it imprisoned?
It will be your first question
that you have formulated yourself.

—Don't worry mom.
Him mine is not anything serious.
Of what they syndicate to me,
I am not the culprit.
But I am in other lands
without anybody that speaks for me.

The treatment for me is cruel,
without pity, neither compassion;
for them I am a beast
without feelings neither pain.

How I miss to my homeland
and much more to my family.
I know that they won't be able to visit one another
but I hope they write me.

I have not left this confinement
because I don't have lawyers.
They are to the order
if I have with what to pay them.

I say goodbye dear mother,
in this my address goes.
I know that you won't be able to visit one another
but send me your blessing.

Two long months passed
waiting the he answers;
of surprise some guardians
they took me out of my cell.
Change you facade
that you have a surprise.

To me I am surprised already anything
I don't care what happens.
How to change my facade
if of me almost anything is.

The surprise that I comment you
I know that it is very pleasant;
in the room of visits,
your mother is waiting for you.

I was bristled all my body
and I was made a knot in the throat.
It could not express with my mouth
what felt my soul.

Running I got ready,
the minutes seemed years.
I forgot all my sadness
and also the disappointments.

I breathed deeply
retaining the air a little;
I gave him the strongest hug
that a son can give to a mother.

He heard it and he could not believe it,
he feared him to be dreaming.
My eyes could not see it
flooded by my cry.

How he made to come
to these lands so distant?
It was my first question
for my old one adored.

You will never be able to feel
what a mother feels,
when he knows about their son
that it has been absent.

It doesn't care how he has made:
if I have requested or I have lent.
Without you I don't leave
here I have their lawyer.

Saint is my mother,
for the good thing that you are with me.
You put an end to my condemnation
and you erased my punishment.
For that reason, while me alive,
before God I bless you.