V / Eduardo Mariño


Tomorrow, the thousandth augury, the fearsome memory, God’s remorseful urge, the moribund sacrament, the terrible gods miserably cornered at the tip of the dream; childhood decrees a spectral silence, all of this, the challenge and the awe from me a promise:

Never, the sentences, the hanging moons, the hands drowning in the fog, the wax boiling in the eyes, lying, subjugating. Celaeno, evening goodbyes, inequalities in the final skin that consecrate the least of man’s rights, of the illuminated dream that drags its name and its disgrace; the walls erase all signs of names and the secret senses awaken an ironic nostalgia of seas, suns that fall, heroes, unfinished journeys, stories that turn and turn without a face, without a number, nameless, timeless:

Yesterday, a sail on the horizon, a candle on your table, a cave in the sand, a bloodless conquest, packed with previous attempts. The Word names the prohibited altars and the astonishing lines of Fire. I know that the hard spiral of this immense crucible of ignominies spies on me with its terrible, black, open and restless hair, its tiny tiger’s smile and the dagger at its belt, cruelly sharpened, eternal, inextinguishable in my side, its blade, the weak gratings that occasion the misfortune of a single caress:

Eternity, of whose secret songs someone has said they reveal the time and place of a revenge. With certainty I know it corresponds to its infallible condition of witness, to consider this wound a triumph, an overwhelming defeat or simply a grateful reminder for the Dharma of these hours under the sign of the Desert of Fire.

Por si los dioses mueren (1995)

{ Eduardo Mariño, A la salida del fastuoso recital, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2009 }

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