On a poem by Rosario Castellanos: The plunder.

They took away the world’s reason and told me: use up your years composing this senseless puzzle.

There is no more. An act is a broken statue. A word is only a mirror’s misshapen image.

What are you going to love? A body that putrefies -this slow bog in which you drown- or a soul that does not exist?

What are you waiting for? Time is a continuos so if you tell tomorrow you lie cause you say’t today.

Not even one dies. That very slight changes and you go on, hard, stone; growing into vegetal and once more awakening to what you were.

Once more, once more.

They told me: don’t look for nothing your’s lost.

And far away I saw them hiding -and laughing- the plunder.