Centuries of oblivion


so immortal, so long, with its minutes
deep as a pond, it will pass
unscathed and disfigured
and the centuries of oblivion
await it. Who remembers today Trajan, Marcus Aurelius, Tiberius?
And they were Emperors
of the vastest Empire. Who will remember
my dogs, whom I have loved so much,
with whom I knew how to run beside the
wagons that crossed Ramos Mejía
carrying faces now already blurred,
faces with debts, with hard loves,
with reasons of rain.
Who will remember, for example,
this instant. This day when
so many birds will die, when love will be born
and love will die and so many children who will be
in a few years high school graduates and then
some illustrious citizens and others
will occupy odious positions, with odious
salaries, with odious departments,
the delicate heart.
But this day will be like Trajan, like
the day I turned 16 and my old lady
gave me a Walkman and a CD of the
Guns, where is that day, that Roman Empire,
fingers drumming in the sand.
Requiem for this day that is born
and that in some way is already terribly dead, and for that reason is no less than Trajan.

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espacioreal
espacioreal

A veces leo.


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