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    WHITE ROSE

I feel good. Now
a stoic cold radiates
within me.
This ruby-red rope that rasps
inside my body makes me
laugh.

Endless rope
like a
spiral
descending
from
evil...
Bloody, left-handed rope
formed by
a thousand daggers driven in.

So let it unravel, braiding
its bolts of funereal cloth,
and let it leash the trembling cat
to the frozen den,
the final hearth.

Now I am serene,
with light.
And on my Pacific
a shipwrecked coffin mews.

autógrafo

César Vallejo, 1918
Translated by Rebecca Seiferle


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