By Leon Felipe




Here I am...

Still in this world...old and tired...waiting to be called.

Often have I wanted to flee through the damned, condemned door,

and an invisible angel always touched me on the shoulder

and told me severely:

No, the time has not yet come...you must wait...

So here I am waiting...

in yesterday's same old suit,

taking inventory and recalling,

examining my conscience,

keenly scrutinizing my life...

What a disaster! ...Not one talent!..I lost it all!

Only my eyes still know how to cry. That's what's left to me...

And my hope rises to say in anguish:

The next time I will do better, Lord,

because...It's true, isn't it, that we are born again?

I believe that God always gives us another life,

other new lives,

other bodies with other tools,

with other instruments...other sonorous boxes

in which the immortal, voyaging soul can better move, slowly

very slowly to correct, down the centuries,

our old sins,

our obstinate sins...

thus little by little eliminating

the primal poison of our blood,

that comes from far away.

Time goes by and pulls it all down, transforms it all.

Nevertheless the centuries pass and the soul is elsewhere...

but it is!

I believe that we have many lives,

That all are successive purgatories,

and that these successive purgatories, all together,

constitute hell, the purifying hell,

at the end of which is the Light, the Great God, awaiting us.

Neither hell...nor fire and pain are eternal.

Only the light burns without respite,




enduring forever and ever..

It is always there with its divine attributes,

Only my eyes today are incapable of seeing it…

these poor eyes that still know no more than to cry.


Translation: Frank Thomas Smith

Biography of León Felipe