A poem is worth a thousand words
Man was not born
To have his hands
Bound to the post of prayer.
God has no wish for knees flexed in submission
into the temples,
but for fiery knees galloping,
hands that caress the womb of fire,
minds that give birth to embers,
lips that form kisses.
I say that I work,
and that this that I make is a good prayer,
that pleases God very much,
and I answer for it.
And I say that love
is the best sacrament,
that I love, that I love you,
and that I have no place in hell.
Jorge Debravo (Costarica, 1938 – 1967)