Voice of the Mirror

So life passes, like an odd mirage.  The blue rose that illuminates and gives being  to the thistle!  United to the dogma of the killing  burden, the sophism of Good and of Reason!              What was grasped, by chance, has wounded the hand; the perfumes took flight,  and, among them, was sensed  the mold, that in mid-course, has grown  into the withered apple tree of the dead Illusion.              So life passes by, with a parched bacchante's treacherous song of songs.  And, completely rattled, I go, onward....on,  muttering my funeral march.              They proceed at the feet of royal, brahmanical elephants,  and to the sordid droning of a mercurial fervor -- those couples who raise toasts sculpted of rock and forgotten twilights, a cross to the lips.               So life passes by, vast orchestra of Sphinxes that vomits its funeral march into the Void.        César Vallejo translated by Rebecca Seiferle >>>White Rose Back to Contents

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