“Time is an illusion.”

Black Messengers. (Translation of Los heraldos negros)

There are in life such hard blows . . . I don't know!
Blows seemingly from God's wrath; as if before them
the undertow of all our sufferings
is embedded in our souls . . . I don't know!

There are few; but are . . . opening dark furrows
in the fiercest of faces and the strongest of loins,
They are perhaps the colts of barbaric Attilas
or the dark heralds Death sends us.


They are the deep falls of the Christ of the soul,
of some adorable one that Destiny Blasphemes.
Those bloody blows are the crepitation
of some bread getting burned on us by the oven's door


And the man . . . poor . . . poor!
He turns his eyes around, like
when patting calls us upon our shoulder;
he turns his crazed maddened eyes,
and all of life's experiences become stagnant, like a puddle of guilt, in a daze.


There are such hard blows in life. I don't know 

Cesar Vallejo

Cynical-isms

He is a rebel but not a revolutionary,
He wants to be part of a circle not part of a group.

Pity me for what I am,
do not reject me because I exist.

Be the root you never had.

I'm off to an official meeting,
so I put my tie on.

Nothing was beautiful when you walked away,
I guess I was too confused by the news earlier that day.
The postman was a good man.