The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Thursday, October 22, 2020

The Anger That Rends The Men Into Children

    

   The anger that rends the men into children,

that rends the child into equal birds,

the anger of the poor

has one oil against two vinegars.


   The anger that rends the tree into leaves,

the leaf into unequal buds

and the bud into telescopic slots;

the anger of the poor

has two rivers against many oceans.


   The anger that renders the goodness into doubts,

the doubt into three equal arcs

and then the arc into the unpredicted graves;

the anger of the poor

has one steel against two daggers.


   The anger that rends the soul into bodies,

the body into unequal organs

and the organ into eighth thoughts;

the anger of the poor

has one central fire against two craters.



--Cesar Vallejo

translated by Michael Smith 

and Valentino Gianuzzi

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