jueves, 6 de marzo de 2014

Story of remoteness, 8.

Voice in the distance

    I always return from the far land
to where I always head for.
And each time, my hands, delicately hardened by time,
quiver just with the presence
of the sparse memory of a past
that never was, that only happened because we dreamed, and inside our dreams
the lies also disappear, already lost the right
to cling onto what we know is not true.
That’s why I speak from remoteness,
because lying down here, beside you,
I prefer to remain in silence,
I choose not to take the floor, but your hands in mine.
I choose to die in the quietness and to be reborn in the sense of touch,
into the inhospitable region of the very lamenting creatures
which sinuously crawl into the chrysalis, the future,
the enormous wall, made of sky and music, that descends over the sea
and generates horizons, frontiers, distances.
The remoteness amongst one and another man:
behold the Eternity. 

No hay comentarios: