About the author:
Virginia Fernández Collado (1977, Spain) is a recipient of the 1st Prize (poetry mode) at the XII Young Creation Competition, Ciudad de Almería in 2011. She has published in EP (S) EL PAÍS SEMANAL in the opinion section “Letters and Contributors”, in “El diario urbano” in Santiago de Chile and in Quillota (Chile). She has collaborated in the magazine “Axarquia”. Some of her poems have appeared in joint books. Her published books are: Predator (2015), and Poems 2006-2016 (2017), Forest (2020), etc. She has also coordinated several poetry anthologies. Her poems have been translated into English, Arabic, and Bengali. She is a Professor of Business Administration in Secondary Education and holds a Doctorate in Applied Economics besides a Master´s degree in “Fiscal Consulting” from the GADE Business School, Madrid.
I live in a wasteland in the world. I walk from me to the center, from the world to the star, from the night to the abyss. I want solitude, shelter, life, singing birds. I am in the desert land, walking towards its center. I choose, from the crack, the wound, from its opening, the sky. Wings flying everywhere, be the apple trees, my house.
I believe in trees and mountains, in forests and rivers, in arid expanses and in all the geography through which our laments and our joys travel. I believe in the earth, creator of animals and men. I believe in the sun with which we warm ourselves and thanks to which we contemplate the extreme beauty of the land by which flowers and thorns can live. I believe in the night by which the day becomes beautiful. I believe in the rain that wets us and makes us grow the seed that will feed us. Praise be to the land on which we live and breathe every day.
Beloved, what solitude is this that invites recollection? What loneliness do you bring me to? Where will the night stay? Where will the fears go? What loneliness will this be if it is not called snow? Beloved, the rain is trembling like a moon over the sea. He has not seen the stars. He has not seen the fish. The rain has a cloak, everything covers it. He has not seen the sky. Blind, the rain falls. The rain is trembling like a moon over the sea, it is unexpected rain, always unexpected rain. Do not fear the snow, white clouds bring winter. Heaven is a chorus of seraphim. Morning is white, the sea is white, the sky is white. One morning I woke up and white flooded our hearts. But also, the night. The night like a throat that screams, the night like a cliff, the night, the night darkens, the night is my countenance, the night is a forest, the night, an animal that lurks. The rivers die on the maps spilling dry tears. Summer passes.