You do not cross the seas, but you do cross the time,
how much more risky that long journey can be!;
the afternoon light is filtered through curtains
and a prodigious ray welcomed on your sails.
Attached to the base, and apparently immobile
dust deposits slowly on top of the old masts,
on the half crumpled ropes, on the yellowed sails,
and on your broken deck unconsciously a fly lands.
The attentive ear listens immersed in golden silence
in darkness of the room, and from the wingback chair,
the roar of time smashing inclemently on the objects
you soar through with secure unmoved course undaunted.
So I had never seen so much a vessel daring
and suddenly I embark on the prodigious tales
of unheard countless days of winds and of bonanzas,
of worries and of joys, arrivals and storms,
of meetings and farewells, of kisses and of tears,
of the clear skies that suddenly become coarse,
of loneliness and laughter, death and abandonment,
of projects and drowned love in the bottoms of seas.
How many sailors seen immersed in the toils
following the pole star that points towards death
helpless rowing and flailing, and floundering then sinking
in the huge surf of hours, in the wild surf of days!.
Everything brought by time, by that stormy sea,
-that relentless deceit, without noticing hardly-
that we are hit in the face and then soaked are left
seeping down into our bones and barely knowing it.
© albertotrocóniz / 02
Text from: "POEMS OF THE EPHEMERAL"
Image from: "PHOTOFILTERED"
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en el tablero “POEMAS DEL GOZO Y DE LA SOMBRA”
