For the Poet of the Valley

 

DEDICATED TO ANTONIO VALLE SÁNCHEZ, THE POET OF THE VALLEY

(Verse 1)

Antonio Valle Sanchez , a word on the road,

a voice you don’t learn, you can’t imitate,

poetry forged by pulse and by fate,

years of true craft behind every line.

You were never born for a small, timid verse,

nor for easy applause that fades away,

your voice crossed oceans, countries and dreams,

and came back deeper, freer, more real.

(Verse 2)

You stepped on stages far from the Valley,

where the accent was never the same,

and still your word never broke or bent,

it spoke the human truth as it is.

South America heard your heartbeat,

your way of naming what truly matters,

because real poetry, when it is true,

knows no borders, no maps, no flags.

(Chorus)

Antonio Valle Sánchez, THE POET OF THE VALLEY,

a voice made of craft, of memory and skin,

your word remains, your verse does not fall,

it lives in the listener, is born again.

Antonio Valle Sánchez, THE POET OF THE VALLEY,

you don’t write for fashion or shallow praise,

you write because sometimes the world

is only understood through faithful verse.

(Verse 3)

Today the battle is silent and hard,

not fought in the streets or under flags,

yet you stand upright, eyes wide open,

full of pulse, of springtime, of word.

Fear didn’t defeat you, nor the night,

nor the dark name of the open wound,

who writes from the depths of the soul

faces time… and remains.

(Verse 4)

You’ve written of Andalusia and its pulse,

of the Valley, of absence, of home,

but also of the lost drunken man

no one ever stops to hear.

Your poetry avoids no discomfort,

it doesn’t disguise shadow or fear,

because you know the truest poem

doesn’t console: it walks beside us.

(Chorus)

Antonio Valle Sánchez, THE POET OF THE VALLEY,

a voice made of craft, of memory and skin,

your word remains, your verse does not fall,

it lives in the listener, is born again.

Antonio Valle Sánchez, THE POET OF THE VALLEY,

your name is already a path to walk,

some poets write poems,

others teach us how to see.

(Verse 5)

You were a father, a root and a road,

and left your truth in your children’s hands,

now your grandchildren look at you differently,

because they already know who you are.

Some battles are never celebrated,

yet they teach us how to see,

and you turned your own struggle

into an act of love, a gift.

(Chorus – Final)

Antonio Valle Sánchez, THE POET OF THE VALLEY,

your voice now walks beyond your skin,

there are verses that stay when all is moving,

and yours remains… and lives again.

Antonio Valle Sánchez, THE POET OF THE VALLEY,

it’s not fame or time that speaks in your voice,

it’s the naked truth of the poem

when it names life… and names it right.

(Verse 6)

And when life placed before you

the hardest name to pronounce,

you turned your body into a battlefield

and the verse into a way of being.

You never stopped writing to death,

nor facing it without lowering your voice,

because to fight is also to say

every day: I’m still here.

(Bridge)

Some of your verses speak of places,

others of a man alone at the end,

but all are born from the same pulse:

to live without lies… and name it as it is.

(Coda / Outro)

Let the verse continue while there is breath,

let the voice remain, clear and upright,

because the Valley names itself

every time your poem is born again.

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