Who can beleive himself as known ?
There is so much inattention
We are crossing this universe
Being as opaque as a night
Only just we are brushing it
And it’s only just brushing us
The memory of us is and
Will only be distorsion,
Necessary stuttering,
Superficial misinterpretation.
Our words, the presence of our bodies
And gestures
Only will be remembered
As sketched fragmented tracks,
As fragments of interpretation.
Who can believe himself as known
There is so much carelessness
Towards others,
So few empathy,
So much hastly misunderstandings.
Each body is a skinbag
And each being,
A galaxy
Separated from its sisters
By abysses of light-years.
We lived as unknown
And we shall die as unknown,
There’s no proximity;
No, actually, there is nothing except coldness,
Cosmic indifference which is sowing
Separation
And language which is a felon
An untrue link that deludes
Us.
MASTODONS OF SKY.
Mastodons of sky
Crushing the roofs,
Heavy-bellied clouds
With so marked outlines,
With your immaculate white colour
So strongly and resolutely outlined in relief
That it looks like a continent,
An improbable iceberg
Coming from another reality
Ô strange burgeoning
And snowy objects
Are-you belonging to a waking dream ?
You suddenly pop up and then
You stay in the blue of the sky, your spreading incongruity
Is catching our eyes for a very, very long time...
What are-you, are-you apparitions ?
Maybe.
P.Laranco.
