March 16, 2012

Cesar Vallejo - The black heralds

There are such hard blows in life... I don't know!
Blows seemingly from God's wrath; as if before them
the undertow of all our sufferings
would embedded in the soul... I don't know!

There are few; but are... open dark furrows
in the fiercest of faces and the strongest of loins,
May they be perhaps the colts of barbaric Attilas
or the dark heralds Death sends us.

They are the deep falls of the Christ of the soul,
of some adorable one that Destiny blasphemes.
Those bloody blows are the crepitation
of some bread getting burned on us by the oven's door

And the man ...poor ...poor!
Turns his eyes around,
like when a pat calls us upon our shoulder;
turns his crazed maddened eyes,
and all of life's experiences become stagnant,
like a puddle of guilt, in a daze.

There are such hard blows in life... I don't know!