A new venezuelan poetry – Poesía


The other which is the spiral of broken skin,
wavering, finding itself
matter emulating eternity
without music.

I heard from you of the other,
the war bombs, rocks snarling
as they explode in heavens shelled and

hungry roosters.

The cries of the grandfather who was left behind,
the concentration camps,
the mother in the horse cage calling you,
yelling at you throwing you bread through the wall.

May it be the other
who contracts otitis,
who hears the Nazis as they snore 
and survives three marriages.

May it be the other ear
that hears the absence of children,
the footprints of rats on the spine,
the nails as they scratch psoriasis crusts.
Another, another, the other,
may the other remain deaf.

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