¿Alguna vez has tratado de acabar con el diente de león?
Nothing could be harder; do not be duped by their sunny appearance
a man reaches forward to pluck a simple stem, ignorant of the problem of the root
his fingers grasping the tender plant, unaware that dandelions are stubborn survivors.

Son firmes, sin tristeza, con un legado de alegría; primavera.
As the sun rises so too these will rise up, brightening boring concrete
surprising the innocent passersby who note gold against grey
as they patter the pavement with the doldrums of their footfall.

Las flores trabajan sin cesar en el calor de mediodía para convertirse en parte de la tierra. Tanto esfuerzo para los pétalos.
Budding, they sweat as they care for their young,
freely giving of their milk until warm winds blow their seedlings away
these flowers do not grieve, but dare to scatter snow under the sun.

Si los dientes de león fueran difíciles de encontrar, un hombre pagaría una fortuna por un ramo
To pay for such beauty one must be a rich man
beautiful faces are everywhere—cheapened by ease of access—
yet to know a blissful amber soul is an expedition beyond even Livingstone.

Los hombres ven el oro en los campos, pero no lo valoran.
Our eyes witness but do not keep
treasure trampled underfoot.

¡Qué lástima!

Zetetic separator

Eaton Rue is a British Indian poet who resides in one of the ugliest areas of England, with a pet coconut named Bernie. Stay in touch by following @eatonrue.


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