In This Crowd Of Sad And Lonely PeopleIn this crowd of sad and lonely people I too am sad and lonely Groping my way through the affluent bazaar of the illusions of Europe It’s difficult to get home from here In the twentienth century Because the poor-rich crowd at home is Desperately struggling to reach here The sooner the better Sooner or later our own kids too Will start playing in loneliness In the near future they’ll start working and earning If they’re even more capable they will Go and settle down in Europe or America They’ll work day and night Constantly buy new things If they feel sad or lonely They’ll resort to psychotherapy They’ll fight Get divorced They’ll seek alternatives to sexual pleasure They’ll find treatments to satisfy intellectual hunger They’ll follow ways to repress emotion Where’s the courage left for human beings to celebrate Their poverty now? The time of human beings is already over
At The Height Of The Night In The Dazzling BathroomAt the height of the night in the dazzling bathroom Sparkling water pours into the tub like a waterfall Both the faucets of the sink gurgling Both the mirrors brightly glittering The lights blaze, a medicinal odour fills The nostrils, the rubber of the slippers sticks to the feet. How disturbed is the water! If the veins were cut, silently, it’ll all be red. We’re going to live till we die, whether it’s you or me, After celebrating lovemaking in this naked Fierce light starting the shower Soaping and scrubbing the body clean. Before returning to the bedroom once more, Counting our organs on our fingers, Wiping our bodies with towels, gargling our mouths, Searching for our spectacles and contact lenses. My mind like a sheet spotted once more Will be beaten and rinsed all over again Rhythmically as in a washing machine in your orgasm Before the automatic control shuts off the whine.
The Fourth Brandenburg Concerto-3In G Major: Allegro, Andante, Presto Luminous gardens of soluble notes : Like skies shedding flowers while blossoming. The tender sunrays of astonishing compassion, Two flutes running through the bows of a violin, We swirl in the middle of it, A lotus closes up its petals around the bees Humming upon it. Later, on the path in the opened head, one walks With melodious feet in ten directions--- The path that is bold and clear and red The garden dissolves and in its place one sees The original forest of God’s imagination A vast complex untangled by a single simple law. Again the flute, again the violin, again the same phrases, Like a leitmotif: but with a changed face. Now even the sky has become simple. From the bowed strings the memories of the flutes Arriving on the earth. Suddenly before the last chord Sounds, the dual strum. Again the same phrase.
In SeptemberIn the park before me the trees in September Trees of so many names like Silver Maple and Bur Oak Suddenly smouldered with coloured leaves before the fall Day after day the flocks of migratory birds flew away Towards nature beyond the sight in the south My window was lit every evening Beyond my typewriter on the table used to be a sunset Blank pages got filled with black letters Later when it got dark beams of light scoured the highway The whine of the airconditioner would never go away Tassos Denegris would smoke a joint and write Poems in Greek hour after hour And Geraldo Cesar Hurtado laughing like a lunatic Playing Strauss’s Zarathustra on his stereo Phoned every half-an-hour to say that no greater poet than himself ever wrote in Spanish Now at this age, and in this country, lying down alone, What am I searching?
The Banyan TreeI still dream of that banyan tree Of which I am only an aerial root and branch The tree circumambulated by Generations of Savitri Space cannot be captured by spreading branches Soil cannot be appropriated by striking roots Although every seed has a potential forest within it There are billions of seeds that simply cannot sprout This is a spendthrift festival Celebrated by the death of many Satyavanas Yama blesses only Savitri I still dream of that banyan tree As though in a tiny seed a whole inverted forest grows Proclaiming the counter-space of liberation Against the will to sprout.
Lord Let It Rain Even In This CountryLord let it rain even in this country Where water smells of murder Where sugarcane or jute is grown in a field of violence Where, as long as You are, Lord, frustration is forbidden Lord let it rain even in this country Where society is cultivated by using human lives as fertilizer Where victims have faith in You And those that prey on them are Your avatars Lord let it rain even in this country Where famines bring fortunes to some Where the machines of human concern never stop Where compassion works overtime Lord let it rain even in this country For those who overeat here sing melodies And those who starve accompany them Where famine and plenty dwell happily together Lord let it rain even in this country