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Night arises
like a great wall of stone
and time is pushing it
without being able to demolish it...
Stars hang
on one side to sustain it:
the sun, from behind, supports it
with hands of glass;
water makes itself into a flag
and the wind a stanchion,
to better defend it
against its rival
whose determination does not cease...

All changes its course;
for night will not end
unless it attains its destiny.

In front of its wall, raised
on a cross, I await my fate:
a gun shot in the silence,
a target in my solitude
that finally completes the mystery
of so much vain searching
for my name in my thought.

Above the wall of night,
in the phosphorescence of sleep
my finger moist with spirit
is writing its sign...

—Although you don’t see my body
its life is here, death:
get here quickly, if you are to come.
Spit on my chest
and let your burning saliva
melt me into the black lime
of the shadow of the eternity
that is now supporting me.
Thus will I lose my name
and, in losing it, I hope to attain
what I do not find by thinking
and is the cause of my thinking...

In this sign I await you
and the font for this sign
is my complete knowledge.
Here I am. Don’t doubt it any more.
Punch me without mercy.

Night arises
like a great wall of stone
and time pushes against it
unable to demolish it...

Faithful tree of truth,
face to face with night, my body
does not rest from waiting.

My eyes are now evening stars.


Emilio Prados
Translation by Donald Wellman

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