The God that worships, by Raúl Gomez Jattin

I'm a God in my town and my valley
not because I'm worshiped but because I do
because I bow upon that who gives me
some granadillas or a smile from his domain.
Or because I go visit its high inhabitants
to beg for a coin or a shirt and they give it to me
Because I watch the sky with hawk eyes
and name it in my verses
Because I am alone
Because I slept seven months in a rocking chair
and five in a city's sidewalk
Because a look at wealthiness obliquely
but not with hate
Because I love those who love

Because I know how to cultivate orange trees and vegetables even in midsummer

Because I have a mate
to whom I bapticed all his children and his marriage
Because I am not good in a known way
Because as a lawyer I did not defend capital
Because I love birds and rain
and my naked exposure to them that washes my soul
Because I was born in May
Because I know how to punch the brother thief
Because my mother abandoned me
precisely when I needed her the most
Because when I'm sick
I attend to the charity hospital
Because I respect mostly only that who does it with me
that who works every day for a bread that's bitter and lonely and disputed
like these verses of mine that I steal from death.