las ofrendas no son ciegas
Mi altar demoledor alienta frases ciegas
Endemonia patios, flores y un bicho arranca
Yo no creo. Blancura en las maderas.
Cestas, piedras, lluvia unánime...
Mis padres ahondan cicatrices casi
Este tiempo es brusco, atado
Corre la palabra de tierna reverencia
Y preguntamos: Madre, traemos los envases
Más joyas y agua fresca?
A mi lado se despoja la mañana. Yo no creo.
Prueba la miel. Las ofrendas no son ciegas.
Hermosas mujeres revelan sus ombligos
Y sus pechos; derraman leche;
Más allá de sus mallas,
mueren los peces los hijos
!Calma el viento su nervio de arenas!
Una punzada se bate como ahogo
Y el animal barajusta. Nos patea, yo creo.
Nos desangramos como bestias. Alguien viene,
Alguien repite: Este tiempo es brusco, atado...
Como si no. Berrido en el patio pulcro
Adornado como un rabo entre corotos
Añil, mi madre. Di tu ensalme en el río
A los cuatro vientos
Lanza las frutas, la miel, la sangre
Y la mañana. Hijo, lánzate aquí
Que la corriente bendiga tu hambre.
Santos López
VII, Ofrenda de Bestias, El libro de la Tribu (1992)
My devastating altar encourages blind sentences
Demonizes courtyards, flowers and an animal starts
I do not believe. Whiteness in the woods.
Baskets, rocks, unanimous rain ...
My parents go deep in scars almost
This time is rough, tied
Spread the word of tender reverence
And we ask: Mother, should we bring containers
More gems and fresh water?
Beside me in the morning sheds. I do not believe.
Try the honey. The offerings are not blind.
Beautiful women reveal their navels
And her breasts: spill the milk;
Beyond their nets
the fish die the children
Calm the wind its nerve of sands!
A stitch is beaten and drowned
And the animal messes up. It kicks us, I believe.
We bleed like beasts. Someone is coming,
Someone repeats: This time is rough, tied ...
Or not. A howl in the neat yard
Decorated like a tail between clutter
Indigo, my mother. Speak your magic on the river
into the four winds
Throw the fruits, honey, blood
And the morning. Son,throw yourself here
Let the current bless your hunger.
Santos López
VII, Offering of Beasts, The Book of the Tribe (1992)
Demonizes courtyards, flowers and an animal starts
I do not believe. Whiteness in the woods.
Baskets, rocks, unanimous rain ...
My parents go deep in scars almost
This time is rough, tied
Spread the word of tender reverence
And we ask: Mother, should we bring containers
More gems and fresh water?
Beside me in the morning sheds. I do not believe.
Try the honey. The offerings are not blind.
Beautiful women reveal their navels
And her breasts: spill the milk;
Beyond their nets
the fish die the children
Calm the wind its nerve of sands!
A stitch is beaten and drowned
And the animal messes up. It kicks us, I believe.
We bleed like beasts. Someone is coming,
Someone repeats: This time is rough, tied ...
Or not. A howl in the neat yard
Decorated like a tail between clutter
Indigo, my mother. Speak your magic on the river
into the four winds
Throw the fruits, honey, blood
And the morning. Son,throw yourself here
Let the current bless your hunger.
Santos López
VII, Offering of Beasts, The Book of the Tribe (1992)
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