Litro #165: Breaking Borders | Daily Resurrection

Translated by Lorna Scott Fox.

They divide the Earth with bloody lines
waving cloths with stripes and stars,
full of pride in plastic trophies
they issue laws that kill our souls,
dangling the deadly bait of credit
they make us slaves to figures.
Baleful merchants graft our brains
with adverts hiding abstract threats,
traffickers sell ego-building gadgets
to any fool who feels empty inside,
artists lick their limitless navels,
priests promise viscous heavens,
politicians applaud their own nods and winks,
therapists sheathed in cars like shouts of platinum
investigate their patients’ excrement,
the poisoners of the seas connive
with poisoners of air and earth and blood
to rule what span of life can be allowed
to every human being,
mothers shriek with calcified virtue
lauding the hands of the padre who rummages
through the innocence of their cowed children,
obsequious at dawn in impeccable ties
assassin architects erect concrete phalluses
where zombies fester in low-lidded tombs
and tinkle long white fingers over keyboards.
Picture-perfect gurus peddling metaphysical aspirin,
breasts blown up like footballs to hook gluttons of the gaze,
youths proud of being parasites, despising the sublime,
smart ladies, faces shielded by placentas of their offspring,
handing rubber entrails out and rosaries in hospitals,
clowns elected President by rubbish-hungry masses
guzzling space and time and candied images.
Haughty eyes denying miracles, mouths spewing definitions,
dogmas, oilrigs, chains, impregnable laws, commandments
piled inside the chest like massive rocks,
hats that weigh hundredweights, planet-shredders,
men encased in clocks, women in bullet-proof panties,
condoms made of lead, brains crowded with vultures.
Ignorant of delicacy, they only know of force.
Ignorant of dignity, they lick the shoes of wealth.
Who made of every citizen a slave with debts?
Who set towers full of blind bureaucrats to overrun the earth?
Who robbed fruits of their flavour to adulate anaemic tongues?
Though slumber courses like a dark river through it all.
You don’t want to complain or criticise, you only want
to open their skull bones and foot bones,
you want their ribs to part like gothic windows,
you want tentacles of water to spurt from their navels,
their backs to split and their spines to whip the air
till it explodes in a shower of golden scales.
Stubborn mollusc daily creating yourself a consciousness
Put on your skeleton, your flesh, unleash the avalanche of heartbeats,
open the sluice to the torrent of blood,
inhale the tumid air as if to make it whole.
One more resurrection, one more hope, you break from the coffin,
throw open the insipid dungeon, sally forth to print your footsteps
on pavements crushed by solid fog.
Among corpses competing for a sliver of some prize
you search beneath hills of complacent masks
for the radiance of a day that’s real.
How to reach the sun ablaze
at the heart of this ocean of shadows?
One day when the star
pours down its faith on all our foreheads,
you will bring the animals back to life,
restore to every plant its soil,
change coins for kisses,
words will no longer be shackles,
the soul will beget a body of light

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