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55 views4 pagesBaby Jesus
The poem describes the author's vision of Jesus Christ as a human and natural child who escaped from heaven to live on earth. The child teaches the author to appreciate the simplicity and beauty of nature and critiques the conventional view of God as a stupid old man. The child lives with the author and guides him to see the world with new eyes.
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0% found this document useful (0 votes)
55 views4 pagesBaby Jesus
The poem describes the author's vision of Jesus Christ as a human and natural child who escaped from heaven to live on earth. The child teaches the author to appreciate the simplicity and beauty of nature and critiques the conventional view of God as a stupid old man. The child lives with the author and guides him to see the world with new eyes.
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We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
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Poem of the Baby Jesus
On a midday at the end of Spring
I had a dream like a photograph.
I, Jesus Christ, descend to the earth.
He came down the slope of a hill
Tornado again, boy,
Running and rolling in the grass
And to pull flowers to throw them away
And laughing in a way that can be heard from afar.
Had escaped from the sky.
It was too much for us to pretend
Of the second person of the Trinity.
In the sky, everything was false, everything in disagreement.
With flowers and trees and stones.
The sky always had to be serious.
And from time to time to become a man again
And to climb up to the cross, and to always be dying
With a crown all around of thorns
And the feet pierced by a nail with a head,
And even with a rag around the waist
Like the blacks in the illustrations.
They didn't even let him have a father and mother.
Like the other children.
Your father was two people -
An old man named José, who was a carpenter,
And that he was not his father;
And the other father was a stupid dove,
The only ugly dove in the world
Because it was neither of the world nor a dove.
And your mother had not loved before having you.
She was not a woman: she was a suitcase
In what he had come from the sky.
And they wanted him, who was born only of his mother,
And who had never had a father to love with respect,
Pray for kindness and justice!
One day when God was sleeping
And the Holy Spirit was flying,
He went to the box of miracles and stole three.
With the first did that no one knew he had escaped.
With the second, the eternally human and boy was created.
With the third, he created a Christ eternally on the cross.
And left him nailed to the cross that is in heaven.
And it serves as a model for others.
Then he ran away to the Sun
He got off on the first ray he caught.
Today lives in my village with me.
She is a beautiful child with a natural smile.
Wipe the nose with the right arm,
Flat iron in the puddles,
Pick the flowers, enjoy them, and forget them.
Throw stones at the donkeys,
Steal the fruit from the orchards
And it runs away crying and screaming from the dogs.
And because you know they don't like it
And that everyone finds it funny,
Chase after the girls
That go in groups along the roads
With the jugs on their heads
And lift up their skirts.
My mother taught me everything.
Taught me to look at things.
Point out all the things that are in the flowers.
Show me how the stones are funny
When we have them in hand
And look slowly at them.
Speak very badly of God to me.
He says he is an old stupid and sick man,
Always spitting on the ground
And saying obscenities.
The Virgin Mary spends the eternal afternoons knitting.
And the Holy Spirit scratches itself with the beak
He/she perches on the chairs and dirties them.
Everything in the sky is stupid like the Catholic Church.
Tell me that God understands nothing
Of the things that created -
If he created them, which I doubt.
He says, for example, that beings sing their glory,
But the beings do not sing anything.
If they sang, they would be singers.
Beings exist and nothing more,
And that's why they are called beings.
And then, tired of speaking ill of God,
The Baby Jesus sleeps in my arms
And I carry him home in my arms.
He lives with me in my house halfway up the hill.
He is the Eternal Child, the god that was missing.
He is the human who is natural.
He is the divine who smiles and plays.
And that is why I know with all certainty
That he is the true Boy Jesus.
And the child so human that is divine
This is my daily life as a poet,
And it's because he always walks with me that I am always a poet.
And that my minimal glance
Fills me with sensation,
And the smallest sound, whatever it may be,
It seems to speak to me.
The New Child that lives where I live
Give me a hand
And another to everything that exists
And so the three of us go along the path that exists,
Jumping, singing, and laughing
And enjoying our common secret
What it is to know everywhere
That there is no mystery in the world
And that everything is worth it.
The Eternal Child always accompanies me.
The direction of my gaze is your pointed finger.
My attentive ear happily listens to all the sounds
It's the tickles he gives me, playfully, on my ears.
We get along so well with each other
In the company of everything
That we never thought of each other,
But we live together and two
With an intimate agreement
Like the right hand and the left.
At dusk we play with the five little stones
On the doorstep of the house,
Grave as befits a god and a poet,
And as if each stone
Be the whole universe
And for that, it was a great danger for her.
Let it fall to the ground.
Later I'll tell you stories about things only for men.
And he smiles because everything is amazing.
Of kings and of those who are not kings,
And it feels sad to hear about the wars,
And of the trades, and of the ships
That leaves smoke in the air of the high seas.
Because he knows that all of this is lacking in that truth
What a flower has when it blooms
And walks with the light of the Sun
To vary the mountains and the valleys
And it makes the eyes ache at the whitewashed walls.
Then he falls asleep and I lay him down.
I carry him in my arms inside the house
And I lay him down, slowly undressing him
And as if following a very clean ritual
And all maternal until he is naked.
He sleeps inside my soul
And sometimes wakes up at night
And it plays with my dreams.
Turn it upside down,
Put some on top of each other
And claps alone
Smiling at my sleep.
When I die, little son,
Let me be the child, the smallest one.
Pick me up in your arms
And take me inside your house.
Strip my tired and human being
And lie down in your bed.
And tell me stories, in case I wake up,
To help me fall asleep.
And give me your dreams to play with.
Until any day is born
You know what it is.
This is the story of my Baby Jesus.
For what reason is it understood
It cannot be more true than her
That everything that philosophers think
And everything that religions teach?
