[Traduccion
al ingles, de R. P. Espaillat:]
A
Raindrop
Dark
retina, dark bedchamber. Mobile nest of hungry prophetic voices. I
strip away the cold skeleton of my shadow (stepping into harsh
weather, the clear path of one drop of rain) leaving behind like
crushed discarded fruit the stupefied sperm of a pair of eyes.
I
am and unfold in almost ethereal form along the sighted crystal that
notes, without a trace, the night-darkened features of the dense
world. I stumble on a wall, and then a coach traveling at the
velocity of police sirens. The wind flies me, tears me apart in the
air, adds unfamiliar scars to those I assume exist.
The
night gathers itself anew around me. It sniffs, as at a corpse
discovered by dogs (the night poses its terrors, threatens to assault
me by surprise, to sink its teeth into the native core of my bowels).
But
the night prefers to run away, must run away, runs away; the clamor
of lightning provokes the winddrift that bears me on to the very
depths of the city, then to continue falling, then to become
endlessly some rancid thing, some crust-covered indefinable thing
that finally vanishes, that later returns to the dark mildness of my
shadow, to the cold skeleton of a bedchamber, to the only voice I
recognize among so many…
“Una
gota de lluvia,”
Jimmy Valdez Osaku
(tr.
Rhina P. Espaillat, dic. 26, 2014)
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