150 IN COSTANTINOPLA and the vandals

150 IN COSTANTINOPLA and the vandals

But now I come to you,

And I speak this in the world:

The ship goes

The sails are going to pass your forehead

In the evening of the university

For Constantinople,

Rumors of vandals are heard,

A scourge of God lurks between my armpits.

The choir waters the one who applauds

150That they may have my joy fulfilled

in themselves.

He who denies and passes by some portico and other arches.

Passes Remembering a roaring coliseum.

The lions and the feast, he raises his gazes to the rafters.

Once he bet on that fierce beast,

He laughed the flesh of that Christian mangled.

Now I limp, leaning between the wooden columns.

When in her anguished gaze She meets me, she brushes my wings And the voice of the officiant: "that the love with which you have loved me may be in them and I in them." A breath and blood in the sand Someone breathes out shattered by the claws of the stand And the rumor of the cavalry is heard.

And the voice of the officiant: A breath and blood in the sand Someone breathes out shattered by the clutches of the tribune And you hear the rumor of the cavalry.

A giant man in front, Rumor, The scourge of God ..........

A giant man in front, Rumor, The scourge of god ………. teeth, Rats AND vultures entourage of consciousness. This afternoon you will be with me …… .. In paradise. So wide the suffering, so repulsive and sharp and bright its nails and screams, deeper and silent his dagger in the mysterious vortex of humility; So wide and shallow the skin of hedonism and its depths of delirium, so much so, the silly uncertainties, his wounds coarse, flat and drowned in pain.

With the falling bricks of the coliseum. Barbarians, He was warming himself and they said to him Are you not of the race of the one who bleeds? Why do you shout and celebrate? And break from your jar He denied He said: I am not He prayed the gospel while the columns reappeared Then the gatherer unsheathed the sword and Buried the one who exhaled And while he turned his eyes to my flying. Clear skies, I at last offered him the sign, the sign, Of the cross...

Why do you scream and brains? Such are those pagans, their loquacity and their impiety; such its grotto of horror, stench and morbidity. Such the incandescence of its swirling wind That screams, carves, oozes and is its eternal trembling With his unfocused eyes.

Such slack, temperance and stoicism, in the light steps and in the simple ways; so slight the uncertainty in eternal joy and so great the impetus of intoxication in the unfathomable, in its naked singularities; plus the instantaneousness of its implosions; plus the imperishable in the spacious and stellar valley of memory, with the rear of the sky, brickwork of intangible temples.