It’s fine. Yes I know that Death at my side
is coming and cautiously toward me
her cries nor love don’t rush to defend me
a father and son live separated
I return from my sterile work frowning,
dark and morose, I isolate myself
through winter, and verse crosses the yellow
pages, in the fatal hand of a dream,
and as black death touches down its wingtip
is able-bodied, everyday trembling
I see Death watching my doorway.
I think of my son and the dark figure
flees with sudden weakness, and the chest
is devoured by a frenetic love.
There is no woman more beautiful
than Death! Just one of her kisses exudes
dense forests of numerous laurel trees,
oleanders of love. I have the joy
of remembering myself a child
…I think of my son who my guilty love
brought to life and sobbing for my arms
lost hold of my beloved: further still
By the ageless aurora I enjoy
my security. Goodbye oh my life
for one destined to die walks around dead.
Oh the ache of the shadow! Oh settlers
of secret worlds in outer space! Oh great
giants who raise alarm in the people,
and move, direct, deride and hasten them!
Oh conclave of judges, blind to virtue,
that a gloomy cloud thickens with layers
infused with gold, as harsh as a sentence
that grim enough demands a surrender
to battle anew– like a fruit its fruits-
on peaceful production people depend
and from its divine wings! of the newly-
planted tree that collects sad falling tears
gathering their juice, and in the deep dens
that tigers and snakes enter, and the new
fortifications that love of people
will build up! Here is a young woman,
a king, a nation, and the primary
attraction an arrogant sex worker
who awaits her course captor and master
crying in her deserted brothel-hell!
This is of saint Salem, and a death house
for modern persons. One cannot spill more
blood than one has! No problems for those who
don’t hate love! Unite swiftly love’s soldiers
all people come together! All of earth
rise up to conquer the king and mister
the sky is witness! Vile! The traitor
who betrays his duty dies a traitor
plunged in the chest by his own vicious
weapon! Watch how the drama of life does
not end in an episode of darkness!
See how after the marble rose or the bland
curtain of fog and vegetation wakes
the drama’s portent! And see, you vile,
as the good, the sad, and the mocked change place
with you and they become your tormentors!
Some feed off of musical chords or blood:
Not me! Not me! I knew the murky
spaces whose features I saw as a child
of sad and penetrative eyes: the awe
of a happy hour if judges saw
in this manner, and I would love life
because from the painful wrong of living
like this I’d be saved by living again.
Happily I’d cast the weight of
accident off my shoulder: it is in
hunger and satisfaction that colors
comes and go, and veers away from pains
so savory belong to virtue, I’d go
in confusion to the cold and grim judge
for my sentencing like a cowardly
soldier who abandons their noble arms;
and the judges whose booths refuse mercy
condemn and speak spitefully adding hate,
that returns the love of battle again
in the suffocating arena pit!
Oh! What mortal who observes a life wants
to live again! Death moves anxiously, well,
on foot over dried leaves and waits for me
at my threshold each turbulent hour
of a fall afternoon, and silently
knits me icy yarn for my funeral.
I answered no to any forgetting
Love weapons are not of any color
but the purple of my blood. Open arms,
Mother death I’m ready to see the judge!
Son! What image do I see? What tearful
sight breaks through shadows with a blinding light
as of the stars that illuminates you?
Son! What do your open arms ask of me?
Where sick at heart do you find yourself?
Why show me your feet bare without wounds,
your pale hands return to me shaken
by extreme sadness? Stop! Quiet! Rest! Live!
A father shouldn’t die until fighting
the arduous fight with ample weapons
strikes a child! Oh, come my little child,
your white wings be lost to the arms of death
and from her sentence of death set me free!