En las cámaras fúnebres / Ramón Palomares

In the Funereal Chambers


All the hills I roamed
are bloody
and all the beds I slept in belonged to love.

I watch the horses go by
without a rider; without hands to sustain their reins;
they lie in the field
under buzzing flies, amid moans and the smell of recent wounds.

The swords laugh
and the rifles sound incited by the flags and the sky I love!


“Riding a horse just like shaken fire
my heart rotated
pushing me
and my powers knew how to speak to the sword
here and there
amid the stuck lances,
not to mention the loves, hates or beliefs
of those from overseas.
I listen to my horse’s laugh and the curse of the sky
as though they were the conversations of elders!


these are my weapons
and the blood and the drunken men in the massacre.
My love is a country
I tossed into the future
like a branch of violence.
It satisfied me to see it
in the west
with golden eyes.

Honras fúnebres (1965)

{ Ramón Palomares, Antología poética, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2004 }

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