Wednesday, November 14, 2012

NOVEMBER Dark Year of the Penguin

They say I have left
though I still rest in this furniture from childhood
next to the cyclical dust of everyday lies
in the shadows of forbidden museums
where the ministry of fear
raise their huge doors
against the shame of the world
hen pain is a preaching of silence
hen hatred is the bloody nectar of devotion
that only by faith in our dreams
we dared to see
that the wind and dust of history
demands the same value in the market-place of doubts,
that the difference between the pig and the peasant
lies in the stubborn colors of some papers
and we understand that the philosophy was
questioning if the pig lives to feed the peasant
or the peasant lives to feed the pigs,
and now that I am like a ghost
I rest under the same dust of the museums
where they exhibit governmental lies
From generation to generation
From hatred to hatred
From all the false eternity of these halls

shaken by a catechism of madness
so that the mouth of a successive priest
eats the pig
eats the peasant
and says I have left.

                              Jorge Luis Rodriguez 

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