La huérfana / José Antonio Ramos Sucre

The Orphan Girl

     The orchard leads to the obstructed river, of fertile shores, where the drainage and thickets loom.

     The vegetation is delirious as a consequence of the nebulous air. I remember the growth of a cosmic force, free from measure, usurper of limits.

     The girl directs a stone to the bird of strident throat, frequenter of the flatulent swamp.

     I set aside mischief to contemplate, once more, the red fauces of a basalt crocodile. They make up the gutter where the granite pool pours out, residue of a luxuriant mansion, attacked by the virulent vapors.

     Voluble fears astonish and paralyze the childish romp.

     A sleepy saurian emerges from the estuary and insinuates itself amid the trees that have been knocked over or carried by the swell. It delivers the sure attack, of atavistic calculation. It reestablishes the calm of the forest, suppressing pusillanimous moans.




Las formas del fuego (1929)




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