2022-05-30 04:44:02
I will not wait any longer, or else this moment will be extinguished with its one radiance, or at least it is lost from me, it is lost from me like a train that was going to carry me to a village, and I only see a feather of steam hovering around my arm, and from it a bag hanging from the weight of my dreams; The long silence convinced me.
I am a tree in whose branches the moons of patience emerge and I want to live it all again: Birth of a child in a crypt, the handful of gunpowder in which lies the fate of the wall of the secret heart's printing press. A slow bicycle with which the dusk carnage worker wades toward a plate of soup, there, beyond a wall of slender hands, beyond my childhood.
I was skilled at throwing stones to impossible ceilings. I had a gang of kids as a friend. I swam in the fountains repeatedly and met Freedom on a chariot, with her face of a widow in dust, on her way to small camps that did not even have a candle, exploiting the epilepsy of the night.
Through an unknown way that no one mentions, I reached a forest of my ancestors' beards flapping like clothes that drowned in the breeze's laundromat. I saw their horses soaked in the saliva of wisdom contemplating the stones for days, as my childhood began to disappear quickly.
I confess to complicated and long sins that I do not remember who committed them, why would I also want to confess, that it was I who stole the carpenter's nails and climbed the egg of the horizon in, with its repeated moons, with its apocryphal calendar, for obscure reasons that no longer baffle me.
Solitude raped me like a stray virgin in a bombed city whose doors hang down to valleys. And I knew, for a moment, what a soldier would think. I was also riding the street, carried on the wave of transportation between everyone and no one. Until I learned the secrets of the old barefoot, and these orphan cities were all waiting at my feet.
My chest is off, the lowest of my messengers is despair, and greener than me is my fading. No trees gave birth to me to lift the earth within my ribs. I only invited water as my guest.
What weighs me down is not iron to fraternize my beast of the bottom. Nor a multitude of desires that I did not fulfill to wish me a calm morning. My departure tissues are like a bird fluttering in blind valleys. My darkness suspects me and erase my evidence. As if the earth has grown old for centuries and who fails in it. Pure blood dripping from the long rope of its victims.
I wish I were a fire, so I could see and be clear. Or a vaccine, so I can see what heals the desire. To be in her white bedroom made of embers that makes a female smell.
O death that breaks into the ditch of my soul, crown me with your wreath. Marry my darkness to another blood. Mix me up, mix in me to clear my wine in you. Take turns making that someone against me to my alternative. Turn me back as you were, to seek my flame and you bequeath me, my readers to seek stones that touched the pulse of the seasons.
495 viewsHubeyb , 01:44
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