October 21, 2010 § Leave a comment

Hoy no ha venido nadie a preguntar;

ni me han pedido en esta tarde nada.

No he visto ni una flor de cementario

en tan alegre procesión de luces.

En esta tarde todos, todos pasan

sin preguntarme ni pedirme nada.

Y no sé qué se olvidan y se queda

mal en mis manos, como cosa ajena.

He salido a la puerta,

y me da ganas de gritar a todos:

Si echan de menos algo, aqui se queda!

Porque en todas las tardes de esta vida,

yo no sé con qué puertas dan a un rostro,

y algo ajeno se toma el alma mia.

Hoy no ha venido nadie;

y hoy he muerto qué poco en esta tarde!


Today no one has come to inquire,

nor have they wanted anything from me this afternoon.

I have not seen a single cemetery flower

in so happy a procession of lights.

Forgive me, Lord! I have died so little!

This afternoon everyone, everyone goes by

without asking or begging me anything.

And I do not know what it is they forget, and it is

heavy in my hands like something stolen.

I have come to the door,

and I want to shout at everyone:

—If you miss something, here it is!

Because in all the afternoons of this life,

I do not know how many doors are slammed on a face,

and my soul takes something that belongs to another.

Today nobody has come;

and today I have died so little in the afternoon!

by Cesar Vallejo. Hortense Carpentier and Janet Brof, Doors and Mirrors: Fiction and Poetry from Spanish America. New York: The Viking Press, 1972.


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