The Black Herald
There are blows in life, so powerful… I don’t know!
Blows like God’s hatred; as if before them,
the undertow of everything suffered
were to well up in the soul… I don’t know!
They’re few; but they exist… They open dark furrows
in the most ferocious face and the most powerful loins.
Perhaps, they’re the wooden horses of barbaric Attilas,
or black messengers that Death sends to us.
They’re profound lapses of the soul’s Christs,
of some adorable faith that Destiny blasphemes.
Those bloodthirsty blows are the cracklings of some
bread that in the oven’s door burns up on us.
And man… Poor…poor man! He turns his eyes, as
when a slap on the shoulder calls us by name;
he turns his crazed eyes, and everything he’s lived
wells up, like a pool of guilt, in his gaze.
There are blows in life, so powerful… I don’t know!
- Cesaro Vallejo
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