Poem
The red jungle murmurs, murmurs, and suddenly becomes the heart’s entire reality, my red jungle. And she, who is a pendulum that swings in the moans, my red jungle, and she who exclaims with quick leaps of kindness, my red jungle, on the route that leads to that deeper forest beyond the anonymous earth allowing us to be nowhere and to forget ourselves, allowing us to not slip on the evaporating thing, allowing us the mediumistic voice of our certainty, and in peace, with no major errors, my red jungle.
Rasgos comunes (1975)
{ Juan Sánchez Peláez, Poesía, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1993 }
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