Autor:    Tuirán Danith Urango

NEW HOUSE

Old house,

I want to start destroying your walls,

that my hand,

like a drill,

at the moment of this poem,

break down your bricks, one by one,

that it tears off your foundations,

and with your waste I will make a pyre,

and later in the blink of an eye

I will rise from your ashes

the same feathers and iridescent of the phoenix bird.

And when you´re up,

willing to give us the gifts,

for which you were made,

be a stable place

where poetry is dressed as a queen

and it has a princess bed,

where are the roads

of Puss in Boots,

where sometimes I am Gulliver or Tom Thumb

winning battles,

or king Midas,

but I don´t want to be Ulysses,

and if I am,

that the sea be in the room.

Home, new home,

that a garden of black and white roses

be born in you every morning,

and at sunset

scarlet roses,

and voices of a thousand free birds,

and wings and wings.

Home, new home,

that nothing deteriorates,

that nothing gets old,

may the good fates be your guardians

so that our life is not unfortunate.