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Dostoyevsky
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“We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.”
Camino a ciegas Por una cuerda Cada vez menos tensa A mí espalda La confianza Es más débil que ayer Hay una luz En algún lugar Puedo sentir su calor Necesito llegar a ella Estar al abrigo De su iluminación Me observas ir hacia ella La persigo con todas mis fuerzas Quítame este oscuro velo Te acercas Me inclino Y cortas la cuerda que me sostiene Caigo al vacío Toco el hastío Estoy ardiendo Desato una venda Sangrienta en lágrimas Y el sudor de seis años Calmo mis gritos Te dedico este soplo Y me dejo caer a mi suerte ¿Ves eso? Todo brilla ahora Es la luz Su claridad me guía Hasta el conocimiento Hasta la verdad Miro tu rostro al caer Sólo te habría faltado Un último beso El fulgor de la traición El dolor de una verdad arrancada Que ahora me pertenece Esta caída libre Esta muerte limpia Es mi renacer
I thought that I could not be hurt; I thought that I must surely be impervious to suffering immune to pain or agony. My world was warm with April sun my thoughts were spangled green and gold; my soul filled up with joy, yet felt the sharp, sweet pain that only joy can hold. My spirit soared above the gulls that, swooping breathlessly so high overhead, now seem to to brush their whirring wings against the blue roof of the sky. (How frail the human heart must be— a throbbing pulse, a trembling thing— a fragile, shining instrument of crystal, which can either weep, or sing.) Then, suddenly my world turned gray, and darkness wiped aside my joy. A dull and aching void was left where careless hands had reached out to destroy my silver web of happiness. The hands then stopped in wonderment, for, loving me, they wept to see the tattered ruins of my firmament (How frail the human heart must be a mirrored pool of thought. So deep and tremulous an instrument ...
Lately I feel that everything is misplaced and that I must accept the uncertainty, even if I name it sadness and hide it. But it is in those moments when the light blinks from within, trying to illuminate whatever is missing so that everything is placed again. That hand that is raised, even if it doesn't succeed: that attempt is survival.
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