"For the mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for. Without a concrete idea of what he is living for, man would refuse to live, would rather exterminate himself than remain on earth, even though everywhere around him was bread."
--from "The Grand Inquisitor" in Fyodor Dostoyevsky's
2:45 AM
There is no pain at this moment
only the tormented silence of this vast space,
of this misunderstood loneliness.
There will be no more sunrises in our lives ...
Just like the chimeras that we desire,
and like the afflictions we hate
were born from what's dead of our souls.
Dead are our hearts,
incinerated by the flames they once loved!
The earth will kiss our bodies
welcoming our last breaths ...
Only in this moment that we hold on
can we recognize our past.
A feeling floats in the morning haze ...
For an instant its shape is recognizable ...
And between the coldness of our bodies without passion,
fades and dies.
For the agony of not being animals
our hand can take the initiative
and trace a strip of suns
where fear is greater than our hopelessness.
A gag on the soul
a knot in the throat and ...
Only the clouds that contemplate us
can know the dark of our history.
The breeze carries our laments
more in the depths of our emptiness
something urges us not to give up yet.
Today the black storm clouds
will not be a promise of life,
and lost childhoods will not be restored.
On the precipice of our abandonment
nor the thick forest of yesteryear
nor the cold current of the years
may prevent our last blind step ...
Our body shudders against something infinite,
something that does not listen to explanations.
I can see the waves hitting the rocks!
I take a step back ... I stagger.
The pounding of the waves is so vigorous ...
A strange calm invades me ...
Where fear and anguish abounded
now the white foam highlights everything;
where hatred and insecurity lived,
now the breeze softens everything ...
Only the rays of the Sun, which give us life
can know the beauty of our death.
For Miguel Ángel Villegas,
with love, from his father.
