At first, I
was going to post only the five first lines of this poem, which sound very
well, as if it were a prayer. Eventually, I decided to post the whole poem. It
is a bit long, but I think it´s worth it. It belongs to the book “Heavy metals”
from 2001. I like the line “the straight proportion of that miracle”, because
it suggests that the propagation of the light is straight. The topic of light is
very common in Literature and we´ll deal with it again in this blog.
For having
seen the light so much, we have lost
the straight proportion of that miracle,
which gives the substance its volume,
faithful outline to the world
we want
and limit to the cardinal
points.
Purely out of habit, we have
ended up
believing that we deserve ,
each day,
that the day rises in
brightness
and limpid to our eyes,
so our look can give it its
own order,
different from others and
turning it into
our unseen work of art.
There is a consubstantial ingratitude
to the fact of being alive, an
intrinsic
power of forgetfulness, and
they prevent us
from providing the tribute
that each moment deserves,
because of the absolute magic
of being existing
instead of not having existed
at all.
With each dubious sunrise,
with every tumultuous sunrise,
light devastates the night
kingdom
and starts its combat. In the
hazy
magma of darkness, with every
dawn
triumphs the accuracy of
everything that exists
over the vocation of
uncertainty that
tempts reality with its
nothingness.
In every early morning, a
spell of beginning
is renewed, that formula which
imposed movement to the first day.
We are witnesses, during the
pure dawn,
of the throne where the light
raises its kingdom in,
and gives it intact to any subject.
We should contemplate the
light more patiently,
Paying more exciting attention,
the submissive tribute with
which a barbarian,
reverent in his adventure,
discovers
the land which none has ever
seen.
