Micenas / José Antonio Ramos Sucre


I have reached the portico after crossing the avenue of statues. The sculptor had conceived and erected them in memory of calamities and portents. He had heard Cassandra’s shapeless and faltering voices.
     I advanced resolutely through the obstructed galleries without finding any vestige of a human being. I would lean down to the pavement to pick up the trampled torches, emblems of death.
     I ignored the dangers inherent to visiting that place. My companions had remained silent when I questioned them in a pressing manner. They would fix a preoccupied glance on the floor.
     The rainwater had stained the walls flowing from the holes in the roof. A few shields, similar to those hanging, as ornaments, on ships’ prows, had broken when they fell to the floor.
     Without realizing it I have entered the chamber with the most lugubrious reputation. I doubted I had arrived at the end of my life.
     A dragon had stretched out on its side in front of a lucid disk.
     I precipitously retraced my steps and found amidst the ruins the host of my solicitous acquaintances.
     I have pondered, over the years and amid anxiety and fear, my unexpected salvation.
     I adhere, once in a while, to a sensible conjecture.
     The dragon had become fascinated by his own reflection in a metallic mirror.

Las formas del fuego (1929)

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

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