martes, 31 de enero de 2017

Libertad domada. 238



De los que venden el amor

Dicen que poeta soy
por lo mucho que he sufrido
y es verdad, porque del bien,
solo habla el que no ha tenido,
hay almas crueles en hombres
mimados y consentidos
aunque sin amor real
de sus padres cuando niños,
no es bondad la del que acusa
para enaltecerse él mismo
aunque al bueno las miradas
preocupan por civismo,
la moral no es una forma
sino un vivo compromiso,
no hace el bien la hipocresía,
el bien es libre albedrío,
no es un santo el que obedece
con cobardía sumiso,
el autor de buenos hechos
que no es capaz de sentirlos
tan malvado es como el diablo,
tan arrogante y dañino,
me ha faltado el buen amor,
por interés, me han querido
pero a mentir, no aprendí
ni exigir lo que no es mío,
la soledad del humilde,
con gran paciencia, he sufrido
sin corromperme y ceder
al insensato cinismo,
no buscaba honor ni bienes
sin derecho conseguidos,
prefería ser un pobre
a haber el alma vendido,
muy adentro en mi conciencia,
con sinceridad, me miro
y por pudor, nunca ofrezco
un bien que no haya sentido,
dan importancia a las cosas
los hipócritas sumisos
en lugar de al sentimiento
porque son leones fríos,
se casa el homosexual
educado en el fascismo
con una chica que no ama
por los morales prejuicios,
hace infeliz una vida,
le niega honor y cariño
pero piensa que hace bien
porque está ser gay prohibido
y el qué dirán preocupa
al codicioso mezquino,
del parecer de los otros,
por la apariencia, no cuido
sino por remordimiento
del deber que no he cumplido,
es el otro quien me aclara
si mi bondad le ha servido
o le causa sufrimiento
a su ser como individuo,
necesitamos amor
mas sin poder exigirlo,
no hay que mentir ni robar
pero otra ley no es preciso,
no es amar una moneda,
no es un dinero, ese, limpio.

About those who sell the love

People say that I am a poet
for how much I have suffered
and it is true, because about the good,
only the one who has not possessed it speaks,
there are cruel souls
in pampered and spoiled men
although without real love
of their parents when they were children,
it is not kindness the one of that who accuses
for to extol himself
although the good man takes care
of the gazes because of civility,
morality is not a form
but a deep commitment,
hypocrisy does not do good,
good is free will,
it is not a saint the one who obeys
with submissive cowardice,
the author of good deeds
who is not able to feel them
is so evil as the devil,
so arrogant and harmful,
I have lacked the good love,
I have been loved for interest
but I did not learn to lie
nor to demand what is not mine,
I have suffered with great patience
the solitude of the humble,
without corrupting myself and giving in
to the senseless cynicism,
I did not seek honor or property
obtained without right,
I preferred to be poor
to have sold the soul,
deep inside my conscience,
I look at myself honestly
and I never offer by modesty
a good that I have not felt,
the submissive hypocrites
give importance to the things
instead of the feeling
because they are cold lions,
the homosexual
educated in fascism is married
with a girl to whom he does not love
because of moral prejudices,
he makes unhappy a life,
he denies to it honor and affection
but he thinks he does good
because being gay is banned
and the greedy miser worries about
what they will say,
I do not care of the opinion of the others
for the appareance
but for remorse
of the duty I have not fulfilled,
it is the other who clarifies
if my goodness has served to it
or causes suffering
to its being as an individual,
we need love
but without being able to demand it,
people must not lie nor steal
but another law is not precise,
loving is not a coin,
this is not a clean money.

©Luis Rafael García Lorente

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