A poem from the Virgin Mary to the baby Jesus

I don't understand, my child. I don't understand, my love.

I don't understand, my child.

I don't understand, my love.

Why, if the world hangs on your arms

I'll hold you in my lap.

Why do you cling to my blossoming chest?

if you are the Bread of Life,

food and drink,

God's good wheat.

Why the smallest one?

asked permission from the eternal Father

to be the Gate of Heaven,

to be the Mother of God,

the ladder to paradise,

the caresser of the greatest treasure.

I don't understand why

if you don't fit in the universe

you have wanted to enter my womb,

make yourself small,

small, mischievous,

and be the most beautiful,

and be as tender as possible.

I can't understand

Why does Wisdom remain silent?,

Why does Purity allow herself to be cleansed?,

Why Joy is whining.

Why do you close your eyes?

if you love everything and look at everything.

Why do you hide your little hands?

if with them you will heal so many wounds.

Why do you breathe so softly?

when you doze off in the doorway.

Why do little feet stretch?

as if to go quickly to deliver a letter.

Why does your heart beat so fast?

if you will be in a hurry to love

if you will be in a hurry to give up your life.

Tell me, if you know.

Please tell me.

Why do you like my nanny so much?,

Why does your crying break my heart?,

Why looking at you makes me fall in love,

Why do I dream about you?,

Why are you my owner?,

Why do I think about you all the time?.

Say if your lullaby is the breeze,

if your crying is singing,

if beauty is your smile.

Tell me if there can be anyone so depraved,

so inhumane and heartless,

that when I see you completely vulnerable,

still beautiful and kind,

be able to hurt you,

to hate you,

or even to step aside,

and leave you forgotten, abandoned.

Tell me that everyone will love you as much as I do,

Tell me you're going to change the whole world.

Tell me that men will go mad with love,

Tell me that better times are coming.

Tell me that the new world begins in your crib,

Tell me you're going to save souls one by one.

If it's about understanding

if it will be about love.

If my heart tells me 

that I never stop looking at you.

I don't understand, my child.

I don't understand, my love.

I can't understand it.

You tell me, tell me. 

José Miguel Granados Temes