FIRST REFLECTION

... this disaster of my life, this exterminating blow of angels and roses,
this event that has entered my chest and has filled my blood with havoc
and the discourse of heaven, besieges me, agitates me and hurts me;
... I do not want to exaggerate what solitude is like while one is being instructed,
or how the stupidity of time arrives and stealthily invades the shoulders,
the arms, the waist and the feet, how it pulls on the couch of the madman
because there are no more birds to pass through the window and the damage is great:
an unknown and uncontrolled constellation of axes and bodies, stridence and orders;
I know that it is a moment of minimal virtue and of very little man,
a scuffle of wolves caged by and in my own cold;
… but I also know that this ruin of mine will pass, even if no one is summoned to said resurrection
and the wolves howl at me hour by hour, day by day and year by year
through the tense and frozen veins of my heart;
… I, I believe in the life of my besieged bones;
where else will I build what I hope for?
where and how, if not, freedom?
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Antonio Justel/Orión de Panthoseas
https://oriondepanthoseas.com
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