STEPS IN THE FOG:

A journey against the light of thought

into the gloomy universe of mist.

 SON, YOU PAIN ME AND I WAIT FOR YOU

At the edge of dawn, my love, I wait for you
as for the redeeming sun of darkness,
a twilight filled with rain
within my eyes, blinded by the happy vision
lost in the vortex of the world.

You pain me
in the hollow emptiness of my womb.
They tore away your nectar
with the brutal forceps of a fatal fashion;
a suicidal experience driving you toward twilight,
toward paradise—the gateway to hell.

You burn
your invincible wings
in dimly scented candles
that reduce laurels to ashes; passage toward an evil future
through an absurd and treacherous present.

You pain me
when I see the violet furrows beneath your eyes
and the white ash upon your skin,
when you return worn and faded
from exploring the sinister corners of orgy
and bring within your gaze
the black recesses of the night.

I beg
that harmony may inhabit your innermost dwelling places,
that fevered winds may not destroy you,
nor muddy currents drown you in the torrent,
that time may not run out and consume you.

You pain me and I wait for you at the edge of dawn.
I watch the sun rise indifferent
behind enormous, unfeeling blocks;
I long
for your own sensitive sun to rise

and for its light to remain upon your path.

Emma-Margarita R. A.-Valdés

Traductora: Vekas Rodica

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