He brought a bow with arrows,
a horse and a sword in his hands.
He had been exiled, expelled,
put away from all his lands.
No justice can exist in this world
if a man cannot have defence.
No honour for the ones who cannot
Their words in their hearts condense.
The forest was big, full of strength,
hundreds of trees, rocks and warm caves,
shelter of refugees, treasure of wild life.
There, men could not be of anyone slaves.
So he was not alone at all.
With him, his freedom and courage,
the wolves, the deer, the owls,
the preys and the hunters, youth and age.
As a ceiling, the sky and the stars,
As a light, the sun and the fire,
As a bed, the green and soft ground,
As a tower, the mountains pikes, twice higher.
“I will make of this nature my home,
I will make of birds’ singings my songs,
I will make the river’s waters my flute,
I will give my soul back to which it belongs.”
And he stayed there through the years,
Living his life, buring his dead,
Finding peace, sharing his being,
where no man dares to tread.
©Mariola Díaz-Cano Arévalo (1999)