(Translation)
The moon shines
swollen of arrogance, the land is covered in withered branch and dead leaves,
the sound of dark steps and those emitted by owls and crickets
saturate the wind.
There's
the cave from where frozen thoughts of the faceless emerge! There the
tortuous prayers of the enraged omen arise, where disturbed rocks awake
yelling.
That is
the nameless to whom they elevate the rituals of dawn. They invoke him! They
seek him out in the silent crepuscule!
They
shriek! The walls rumble, the throat closes, the sepulcher of tears closes
swallowing all, leaving only oblivion.
Jorge
Campos
Managua, Nicaragua
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| by Zdzisław Beksinski |
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