Agape September 12, 2015Posted by The Typist in Poetry, The Journey, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
By César Vallejo
Today no one has come to inquire;
nor have they asked me for anything this afternoon.
I’ve not seen a single cemetery flower
in such a happy procession of lights.
Forgive me, Lord: how little I have died!
On this afternoon everybody, everybody passes by
without inquiring or asking me for anything.
And I don’t know what they forget and remains
strangely in my hands, like something that’s not mine.
I’ve gone to the door,
and feel like shouting at everybody:
If you’re missing something, here it remains!
Because in all the afternoons of this life,
I don’t know what doors they slam in a face,
and my soul is seized by someone else’s thing.
Today no one has come;
and today how little I have died this afternoon!