la voz cruel::the cruel voice
La voz cruel
A Octavio Paz
Alzan la voz cruel
quienes no vieron el paisaje,
los que empujaron por el declive pedregoso
la carne ajena,
quienes debieron ser almas de todos
y se arrancaban de ellos mismos
cuerpos parásitos
para despeñarlos.
Mil muertos de sus vidas brotaban,
mil muertos solitarios
que miraban desde el suelo,
durante el último viaje,
la colosal estatua a la injusticia.
No eran muertos,
eran oprimidos,
seres aplastados,
ramas cortadas de un amante o de un padre,
seres conducidos por un deseo imposible,
topos de vicio
que no hallarán la luz
por sus turbias y blandas galerías.
Alzan la voz cruel
quienes no vieron el paisaje,
los que triunfaron
por la paz interior de sus mentiras.
¡Oh mundo desigual!
Mis ojos lloren
el dolor, la maldad:
la verdad humana.
The cruel voice
for Octavio Paz
They raise the cruel voice
those who didn't see the landscape,
those who didn't see the landscape,
who pushed up the rocky slope
other people's flesh,
who should have been souls to all
and tore from themselves
parasitic bodies
to tear them apart.
A thousand dead sprouted from their lives,
a thousand lonely dead
who watched from the ground,
during the last journey,
the colossal statue of injustice.
They weren't dead,
they were oppressed,
crushed beings,
branches cut from a lover or a parent,
beings driven by an impossible desire,
moles of vice
that won't find the light
through its murky and soft galleries.
They raise the cruel voice
those who didn't see the landscape,
who triumphed
over the inner peace of their lies.
Oh uneven world!
My eyes cry
the pain, the evil:
the human truth.
Manuel Altolaguirre
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