Paths dialogue - the Old? Mango Tree

Paths dialogued

Slowly, like nightmares, had passed the weary days of acceptance of dogmas school ...

Now we look forward to a world vast, endless, with multiple paths to oblivion ... of mountains and plains, rivers and hills retostadas, of beaches, harbors and mangrove swamps of bimbines, capisucias and cirueleras, mules rabbits, iguanas or Cocaleca ...

And paved roads were rough erosion, were hills to the narrow roads leading embedded wounds as white, in a land transit paste by continuous lean cows without grass, whose ribs would escape into the sky ...

Roads were turned into spirals around those hills and far away, the white walls of old houses were herons new.

Dialogábamos and then watched in silence our people was a white seagull with its wings broken, abandoned in a sea of ​​brown water, cloudy, green, frozen and hot ...

And the sea was not far from true, bluer than a brief tropical sky in March ... the horizon was a piece of hot metal.

We moved along the paths talking about us ...

The wind blew our voice and was turned back in silence.

Rene De Leon G.

November 25, 1978

The old mango tree

The thirst rises from branch to branch.

The time runs out, one by one, almost all branches of the tree, which is banding on the dusty road leading to the beaches anonymous dark hidden port mangroves.

Under the old tree, the wind plays with the dust of the road.

Upstairs in their rough branches, drunk matapalos play the sap and to deposit the egg of darkness and silence.

Our childhood is passing and we have not seen it happen time and only have noticed that the tree has changed a lot lately, little by little it has been consumed by thirst and has been losing its branches to the army in Matapalo.

The fruits of the handle and are not so close to the ground in the ravine on the other side of the road.

Rene De Leon G.

Panama, Panama. August 2, 1979.