Acíbar / José Antonio Ramos Sucre


I transferred him on my shoulders to the nocturnal pit, to the abyss of mechanical nature, to recover from his inclement pain.
     The twilight was simulating the day of an original past in which the forms of imperishable life were born, from the air and the earth.
     A flower with a silk corolla, jewel of its final dance, succumbs in a crystal cup with a slender figure. He was reflecting the vicissitudes of the illness and the ravages of the cunning fever.
     I adopted, as a consequence of his death, a laconic severity and was jealously suppressing the release of continuous remorse.
     I was seated, close to midnight, at an artistic table, in a luxurious tavern. I was drinking beer in a pine mug from Germany.
     An inopportune man reminded me of the extinct one’s fate and placed before my eyes the ruin and lassitude of his fiancée.
     At that moment I released the subjugated grief. The image of his unhappy beloved pulled from my being a recondite sob and my head fell heavily onto the marble of the ebony table.

Las formas del fuego (1929)

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

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