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miércoles, 11 de julio de 2012

Poemas en inglés de David Alberto Campos

MADNESS I...................I am come.Dawn still castsits cold embrace. The receptionist wears a sleepy smile.She tries her best to cheer me upas she gives me the keys.I try to smile as well. The wide hall of ancient woodreceives me in its dry emptiness.The chapel is closed. It, too,has seen its share of deranged mindsfor nights on end. I walk.My thoughts are with the patientwho I am to see at seven---has he improved? is he still hallucinating?I greet the nurses,overworked and underslept.In my mind I jointhe choir on the radioso as not to add to their burden;they have had enough frantic voices,enough wailing, enough complaining,enough weeping. I go downstairs.My steps reverberateand follow meand fade amid the twilight. I see the door unlocked.A purposeful hand? or a careless one?Purposeful carelessness perchance?Yet no one comes out.No exit door exists for the ill of mind. The corridor awaitswith voices hurt by years,by shattered illusions,by outrage.Once again the sick await,taking my arrival to be something.Poor men, good men,abandoned long ago,glad to hear me greet them.Poor, good women,relieved to hold my hand. I enter my office,boring, ugly I daresay,in spite of my attempts:pictures, flowers, travel books,a carved saint, to no avail.The comfortable armchairs I was soldhave nothing to say to a tortured soul. Time goes by.I meet the lady who attempted deathupon hearing of her son's:this city keeps on bleedingunder the hail of bullets. She cries and swears and cries and prays,she cries and begs.Her brother thinks her mad.I think of the barbarianswho kill for a livingout in the streets.I do not think her mad. I look out the window.I want to sit and writeone more impromptu poemfor my private list of thoughts,unvoiced shouts, stifled shouts, half-shouts,put hurriedly down between visits. I notice somewhere faranother doctor listens to a maniac's diatribe. Truly are they called patients---they have lived in waiting.We, too, are patients: we deal in perseverance.................................................. A NEW CENTURY Does darkness on our souls have any claim?Is joy but a short-livèd butterfly? isits song no more?And shall the fearsome rule of guns advance?It ought to be neither believed nor allowed.A world misled can still expecta revolution of love. The realization growsthat blade and gun are base and sterile;that change is needed, but violence is not;that selfishness can poison the noblest of hearts. Twenty centuries had passedand we believed in hope:no more endangered innocents,no more embittered feuds.Thither lays a lengthy roadas this new age has shown so far:Age of Kali, not of Aquarius.We the humans, nonetheless,are capable still. The tears have been enough.The anger of fanatics,the burying of parents and siblings,the pain with no end in sight.We need to learnthat greatest of honors which is service,that greatness which is not obtained in wealth,that power which is humble in its silence. Beyond this life is not the use of hope.Peace in our lifetime,to make this Earth the one we wish:that is to be preferredinstead of minds that growbeing taught to live clouded. Are powerful misers to end?Is poisonous recklessness doomed?So wish we all. We want togetherness, freedom;we want a tomorrow with dignity.We want to create.Our creation will defeat the barbarians.In full resoluteness,we will sing to the cosmos David Alberto Campos Vargas (Colombia, 1982)

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