La vigilia del campamento / José Antonio Ramos Sucre

Camp Vigil

The king, ancient skeleton, was proud to be soldier. He had entrusted me with the task of spying on the scoundrels of his dealing and friendship, incorporated to the ultramarine expedition. The king himself had presided the viewing of naval forces and was stepping on enemy territory, with an invader’s pretensions.
     I remember the ill dream of the hosts in the night of volatile phantoms. The soldiers required armament to defend themselves from an illusory assault. I ended up in a swamp as I was chasing a false horseman. He was able to disentangle himself from my hands by means of luck and original prestige. A scar obliquely divided his diabolical face of an earless cat; by which I was to think of the figure of a warrior for Attila. I frightened from the water’s surface a few frogs raised in the mud, inhibited and frightened by the sentinel’s anxious voice. They were displaying a necklace of pearls on green livery.
     The criminal subjects, pointed out by my censure, disappeared seduced by unfaithful visions and engaged with the adversary’s field, where they suffered the luck of spies and mixers. Greed had separated them far from exile.
     The happiest and most impious one was lost in an extravagant battle. His quick rival was able to fatigue him with unexpected blows from Hamlet’s floret.

Las formas del fuego (1929)

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

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