We are two plantain trees next to the river, what else can we do?
Everything ends, except this love:
Our bunches hanging in the rainy breeze, the caressing whispers at night.
The foolish tomatoes would change color if they saw us together in the daylight:
The breeze and our bodies, without bills or telephones,
without searching for each other in the world.
Only plantains happy with the sun and many rains so the family can grow.
In the afternoon, we thank the sun for his colors, and he brings them back
without fail the next day.
Everlasting plantains until they tell us to leave for somewhere else.
In the meantime, we’re caressing and whispering beside the river
with some clouds, our friends, and some trees, our witnesses.
Translated by Scott Bailey and Rebecca Morgan