Sueño / José Antonio Ramos Sucre

Dream

My life had ceased in the unlit dwelling, a desert retreat, at the end of the suburbs. The weak, dusty splendor of the stars, higher than before, barely sketched the outline of the city, plunged into a shadow of horrible dye. I had died in the middle of the night, in a sudden trance, at the very hour designated by the premonition. I was then traveling in an unavoidable direction, among tenuous figures, abandoned to the undulations of a joyous air, indifferent to the far off rumors of the earth. I was arriving at a silent coast, abruptly, without noticing how fast time moved. I was poised on the white sandy ground, marginalized by steep hills, peaks lost in the infinite heights. Facing me, an immobile and crystalline sea was eternally silent. A dead light, of aurora borealis, born beneath the horizon, illuminated with fixed intensity the serene, starless sky. That region was beyond the universe and I was animating it with my desperate, confined voice.




La torre de Timón (1925)




{ José Antonio Ramos Sucre, Obra completa, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }