La poesía / Mario Trejo

Poetry

Yes.
Because its lips are born by the light of my eyes.

When its voice appears, its invulnerable rhythm,
everything obeys it.
Above the adversarial sights, above the tedious
work of fearing it, are the restless voices,
time’s patrols, the victorious waves.

Citadel of the dark truth that forsakes
man: I am your prisoner and your fugitive.

My countersign?
To practice your silence, solicit your clamor.

Because, what is poetry then if not a
fanatical slogan, a tension between the
dead and prophecies?




El uso de la palabra (1979)




{ Mario Trejo | Argentina, 1926-2012 }