El Campano /The campano (es/en)

camuflas tu estructura

de fiera corteza.

El dolor de las vísceras

junto a ti se aniquila,

eres tú la espesura

que sostiene mis huesos.

En tu techo de gigante

respiro el candor de tu sombra.

Tu enramada busca

ciegamente las nubes

y bebe la miel seca

que crece entre los dos.

Erguido a la lumbre que palpita,

el campesino se arrima a tu

sombra cuando el sol

amarra los rayos a la tierra,

el ganado y las aves

se atan a tu tronco.

Regreso a ti,

cuando se precipita el rocío,

un escalofrío recorre

mi pecho y la soledad

es una rama tuya

que hambrienta me devora.

Hello friends of Hive, warm greetings to all.
Sometimes we pass by and the landscapes, the trees, the simple things speak to us — and later they turn into poetry.
The Campano is not just wood and shade; it is the rib of the countryside, an upright grandfather, a silence that breathes with me.
Today I share with you this poem that was born beneath its bell of greenery and wind.
Perhaps, if you read it slowly, you too will feel a branch touching your chest.

—PoetaFrankoo 🌿

Original image created by me

you camouflage your structure

of fierce bark.

The pain of the entrails

is annihilated beside you;

you are the thicket

that sustains my bones.

Beneath your giant roof

I breathe the candor of your shade.

Your branches blindly

seek the clouds

and drink the dry honey

that grows between us.

Upright before the throbbing glow,

the farmer draws near your

shadow when the sun

fastens its rays to the earth;

the cattle and the birds

bind themselves to your trunk.

I return to you

when the dew falls suddenly;

a shiver runs through

my chest and solitude

is one of your branches

that hungrily devours me.