|Chilean poet Gonzalo Rojas (1917 – 2011) contemplates the Pacific Ocean at his birthplace, Lebu (2010). Source: Wikipedia.|
Sun and Death
Like a blind man crying against a ruthless sun,
I insist on seeing light through my vacant eyes,
What good is the lightning
that writes through my hand? What good is the fire,
when I've lost my eyes?
What good is the world to me?
What good is this body that forces me to eat,
to sleep and find joy, if everything boils down
to feeling for pleasures in the darkness,
to nibbling, in breasts and lips,
the shapes of death?
I was given birth by two different wombs, I was cast
into this world by two mothers, in two worlds I was conceived,
twofold was the mystery, but one only was the fruit
of such a monstrous labour.
Two tongues are inside my mouth,
two heads are inside my skull:
two men inside my body wolf each other relentlessly,
two skeletons battle to be one spine.
I have no word other than my mouth
to speak of myself,
my stuttering tongue
that names half my visions
beneath the lucidity
of my own torture, like the blind man cryingagainst a ruthless sun.