Festival Internacional de Poesía de Medellín

Here it is told how a storm reproduces the days
of violence, those that strikes with terror
the humanity of women

A storm
wets the goatee beard of a god.
A storm
in the depths of the sea and of night
becomes blue as a hen’s leg.
Under this storm life can be shipwrecked,
the invisible nothingness that knocks
its void against all.
I have seen a storm grow in my country,
the black mane of lightning
falling on the dead women.

Translated by Nicolás Suescún

Fredy Amariles

 

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