Segunda radiografía
Es posible observar como,
día a día, el haz de luz
que se cuela a través
de las cortinas, se desplaza
paulatinamente por el suelo,
dibujando milimétricamente
el mapa de las estaciones,
el desperezamiento de la tierra,
el movimiento.
No existe tal movimiento
en el interior:
El sabor de las paredes
es el mismo,
todos los días
y la acuciosa búsqueda
del sonido más débil,
entre todas las frecuencias
de alaridos y auxilios,
fracasa...
Sólo el espejo
es capaz de divulgar
cómo el tiempo escribe
la indiferencia y el tedio
en su hoja plateada
y movediza .
Sólo el espejo
empaña
y cristaliza
todas las verdades
en las fauces
de este encierro.
Second X-Ray
It is possible to observe, how
day after day, the ray of light
which crosses through
the curtains, slowly
crawls across the floor
millimetricaly drawing
the map of the seasons
the earth stretching out
the movement itself.
There is no such movement
inside
the wall’s flavor
is the same
every day
and the accurate search
for the weakest sound
among all frequencies
of shrieks and shouts
fails.
Only the mirror
is able to disclose
how time writes
indifference and tedium
in its unsteady silver
blade.
Only the mirror
fogs over
and crystallizes
all the truth
in the mouth
of this confinement.
The Incurables Bar
The sharks I escaped.
The tiger I shot down.
The ones that devoured me
were the lice.
—Bertold Brecht
The vocabulary is limited
(it must be said.)
As it is also missed
the little glows which
like sparks sprouting
from the contact of the stone
and the tool
are cautiously hidden by some secrets corners.
It must be said also
that behind the foam of every glass
served some time ago in this bar
it is possible to solemnly perceive
(under certain angles of light)
the color of the patrons’ dreams.
But it’s not only the agile whistle
(like vipers licking)
of the playing cards slithering
across the table.
It’s not the colossal and vulgar
roar either
of the dices breaking up the outlines.
One by one, the parishioners
nervously whispered the hand.
With the serene and suspicious attitude
of a weird fortune teller
they were leaving their own lives in the game.
And the little sweat drops
which magically sprout from their guts
like pearls in the middle of the dark
tragically betrayed them.
The patrons then, one by one
abandoned the cards
and leaving half empty glasses
they moved across the mysterious and cryptic garden.
Like the first possessed
there was no need to show credentials.
One by one, with picks and spades on their shoulders,
with their own inventory of miseries
step by step
they were entering to the cold garden…
