Festival Internacional de Poesía de Medellín


The triumph of constant loss

We shall never be
what we were momentarily
but it is a triumph
this constant loss.
What is saved is only
the silence of a leaf;
the body grows dark
together with the day
until the unexpected blaze
of black night.
Life fragments
replace colours
in small depictions
of a dream
grazes substitute
shades of light
on temporary skin.
Blinded by so much blackness
I was seeking a god
and I was given only one finger
to scratch myself with;
I am triumphant now
in my most hidden parts
where the idea
is conceived: here
I realized at last

that I will be the first to leave.
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