Y lo cubría con sus máscaras funerarias / Francisco Pérez Perdomo

And covered him with its funereal masks

A soundless voice was calling him.
He would then return to the secret
abyss of his room.
He would lay the length of his body abed.
He would watch cabbalistic premonitions
cross the dense shadows.
Luminous and convulsive spiders
were crawling the air threads.
An oppressive silence was complaining.
The movement of the stars
was trembling in his temples.
He couldn’t sleep.
A mute desperation would possess him.
Strange visions were ceaselessly hounding him.
Pale, the color of death,
he would lean out the window, uncombed.
Something like a white and fading light
that would surge from the remotest unknown
of his depths,
had moved through his entire body,
now rose to his face
and covered him with its funereal masks.

{ Francisco Pérez Perdomo, El límite infinito, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1997 }

No comments: