En los caminos del abismo (III) / Alejandro Sebastiani Verlezza

On the Paths to the Abyss (III)

                              [Von fragile, ASV]

                                  Save yourself
                                  on that trail
                                  Yolanda Pantin, País

                                  maybe we don’t exist anymore,
                                  but we can’t realize it yet
                                  Luis Gerardo Mármol Bosch, Purgatorio

“To begin, we’re all out.”

“The fatherland.”

“Are they conspiring?”

“For all eternity.”

“What’s up with that cough?”

“Well, the body.”


“Hungover, way down low.”

“You leaving?”

“Yeah, to the altars.”

“With who?”

“With the avengers.”

“Are there that many of them?”

“They all live in my system.”

“Oh, really?”

“Since the Republic was born.”

“Something happened with the midwife.”

“Poor thing. Even the heroes weren’t buried. It’s just that you can still hear a lot of screams and bellowing way off in the bushes, especially when the rain passes and the roots are stirred up. But we believe, we believe. We cling to it.”

“Do they hear you?”

“When I pray. They sound, appear by the dozens.”

“They speak from a blurry, opaque spot you can hardly tune into.”

“I’m the only one who can feel them, understand?”

“Invite me to breakfast.”

“I said no.”

“Are you accustomed to servitude already?”

“It becomes beautiful when it’s voluntary.”

“Is that so?”

“These are historic efforts.”

“What a shame.”

“It’s my life, my struggle.”

“Our death, everyone’s, doesn’t this implicate you?”

“You all rush too much.”

“It smells really bad.”

“It gives so much.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“I lost the pain. I lost my voice three years ago.”

“Now I just drag myself along the roads. Many of us live like this.”

“It’s better not to see, better to pretend nothing’s happening, better to leave.”

“Your boss has given you a certain metaphysics.”

“I’m indebted to him even for that.”

“And you can’t go backwards?”

“Can I?”

“Frankly, no.”

“Do you have for your ticket?”

“I’m clean.”

“The roads are poisoned.”

“There are specters.”

“Places you can’t see.”

“They’re burning. Even the ones furthest away they’re burning.”

“And you?”


“Not even a blink?”

“I forgot about you, soul.”

“You’re so fried.”

{ Alejandro Sebastiani Verlezza, Papel Literario, El Nacional, 1 June 2016 }

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