trout

Seeds of corn in a tray in November last year

Juan Garrido-Salgado

Seeds of corn,
soil, water in our hands.
Fingers cover it.
Days of silence
they will rise
life appears and smile in the garden.

November, the gold fruit
travel through centuries from the Mayan world,
feeding a new humanity.
Like Otto René Castillo's poem:
I sink my heart into the center of the earth
And unfurl the feats of the cornfield
Corn meal to Dioses
Sun capture for centuries
Thousands deseeded corncob that grown

Corn meal for Gods
Sun captured for centuries
Thousands corn-cob that grow
Above the trunk in the mountain
More close to the sun.
They are prayers of earth with the human sweat.

Seeds of corn in November,
water, soil and sun.
Days of silence
life and food
like a prayer from Mayan people…
Our garden makes possible the cornfield
like a wind lost in the mountain of the Mayan calendar.