El desesperado / José Antonio Ramos Sucre

The Desperate One

I was soaking the pillow with tears in the secret of the night. I was distinguishing the lost rumors in the firm darkness.
     I had fallen, a month earlier, gravely wounded in a compromised dispute.
     The idolized woman refused to alleviate, with her presence, the inhuman pains.
     I decided to rise from the bed, so as to conclude at once this intolerable life and I headed towards the window with sturdy balustrades, raised vertiginously above a rugged field.
     I was hoping to watch, in the crisis of agony, the sparkle of morning over the serene heights of the mountain.
     I provoked the tearing of the sutures when I forced my hesitant steps and fainted when the sudden flow of blood surged.
     I came to my senses by the effect of the servants’ diligence.
     I have felt the stupor and happiness of death. A delicious aura, traveler from other worlds, was solacing my forehead and inviting the canto of the daybreak swans.

Las formas del fuego (1929)

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

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