This poem belongs to my poetry book "Cuaderno de Britania-Book of Britain". St. Martin-in-the-Fields is a church next to Trafalgar Square and is a very unique place because, as I wanted to reflect on my poem, in the crypt there is a cafe-restaurant where tables are placed on the graves and you can taste a tea with cookies in a nice conversation.
The stairs leading to the crypt leading to life.
There, the light recovers the echo of a darker time,
the truth that the slabs show with robustness of death,
with the hardness of names clung to destiny
and dates sewn to the memory of all that was life
to foot of the stairs leading to the crypt.
On the tombs a few tables for tea,
noise of conversations, words that adhere to today,
people reading, listening, contemplating
the daily drama scene, the miracle
of that indefatigable treadmill of life, of the wheel
where always runs the supreme law
of all that happens, it all happens
on the silent slabs of death.
(from Cuaderno de Britania)