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Primus

Today, April 15, remembering loved poet, my favorite verses, remembering as if it were yesterday the day that my father read to me and swore eternal dice that I would learn it forever.

César Vallejo is dead, is here with me, with us ...

bones Payroll
were asked in a loud voice: "Let him show
both hands at once.
And this was not possible.
-May, while crying, take him far in his footsteps. And this
possible.
think a thought-identical, the time zero
remains useless.
And this was not possible. "That makes
crazy.
And this was not possible.
-that he and another man like him, bringing an
crowd of men like him.
And this was not possible.
-would you compare yourself.
And this was not possible.
-would you call it, in order, by name.
And this was not possible.

The Black Heralds

There are blows in life, so strong ... I do not know!
Blows seemingly from God, as if before them,
Surf
everything suffered welled up in the soul ... I do not know!

are few, but they are ...
opening dark furrows in the fiercest face and in the strongest back.
Perhaps they are the colts of barbaric Attilas;
or the black heralds sent to us by Death.

are the deep falls of the Christs of the soul
of some adored faith blasphemed by Destiny.
Those bloody blows are the crackling
some bread in the oven door burns us.

And man ... Poor ... poor! He turns his eyes, as
when over his shoulder patting calls us;
turns his crazed eyes, and everything lived
become stagnant, like a puddle of guilt in his eyes.

There are blows in life, so strong ... I do not know!

Espergesia

one day I was born, God was sick.

Everyone knows I live,
I'm bad, and do not know
of December this January. Well

day I was born, God was sick.

There is a void in my metaphysical air

that nobody has to feel:
the cloisters of a silent
who spoke on flower of fire.

one day I was born, God was sick.

Brother, listen, listen ... Well
. And I do not go without carrying
Decembers, Januarys
while. Well

day I was born, God was sick.

Everyone knows I live,
to chew ... And
know why my verse squeak, dark
distaste of coffin,
luyidos
winds unscrewed the inquisitive
Desert Sphinx.

Everyone knows ... And they know that Light is
consumptive and Shadow
fat ... And
Mystery knows that synthesizes ...
that he is the hump and sad musical
distance
complaint meridian passage of the delimitation boundaries.

one day I was born, God was sick,
serious.

"GIVEN THE ETERNAL"

For Manuel Gonzales Prada, this brave and select
emotion, one of the
that, with more enthusiasm, I applauded the great master.

God, I'm crying the being that I live, I regret having tomádote
your bread;
but this poor clay crust thoughtful
is fermented in your side: you do not have
Marys to be!

God, if you had been a man,
now knew to be God;
but you, you were always good,
not feel anything in your creation.
And the man himself will suffer: God is it!

in my eyes Now that warlocks are candles,
like a condemned
God, turn on all your candles,
and play with the old die. Perhaps
player oh! giving
luck of the entire universe, dark circles arise
of Death, as two aces
funeral of mud.

my God, and tonight dull, dark,
and can not play, because Earth is a given
gnawed and
round and roll the force of adventure,
who can not stop it in a hole ,
huge hole in the grave.

his beloved poet
Amada, tonight thou hast crucified
on the two curved beams of my kiss;
and your grief has told me that Jesus has wept, and there is a
viernesanto sweeter than the kiss.

rare in tonight so I've looked,
Death has been happy and has sung in his bone.
On this September night
has officiated my second fall and the more human kiss.

Amada, we will die together, close together;
drying the breaks will go our lofty bitterness
and shadow have touched our lips dead.

And no reproach in your eyes be blessed;
not offend again. And in a grave