Él camina bajo las ramas de ese árbol adormecido por el sol que le ha secado las hojas y le ha absorbido la savia que lo hacía latir. Él mira hacia las hojas; las analiza en silencio, mientras lleva las manos al tronco seco y duro que le invita a sentir. Desliza las manos por la rugosa formación de esa superficie, y le duele la piel.
El árbol late como si volviese a nacer.
¿Es esto la vida, es así el placer?
¿Es que, acaso, para conocer el gozo, hay que pasar por la desdicha que causa el dolor?
He walks under the branches of that tree numbed by the sun that has dried the leaves and absorbed the sap that made it beat. He looks towards the leaves; he analyzes them in silence, while he takes his hands to the dry and hard trunk that invites him to feel. Slide his hands through the rough formation of that surface, and his skin hurts.
The tree beats as if it were born again.
Is this life, is this pleasure?
Is it that, in order to know joy, we must go through the misery caused by pain?
