He awoke dazed as if he were the result of a wish that had sent him on a journey toward his resurrection; he did not require faith, a prayer, a sunset, those bubbles in the waves of the sea, not even the oxygen in his air to breathe.
He awoke with his feet in the sky, his head underground. Upon opening his eyes without despair, he blinked without flinching and began to dream.
He awoke with a tender chest to nest and began to guess the outcome of kissing, of tempting fate in a feeling to love; he bet his soul on joy with no light other than the flame of a candle, no clothes other than his skin, with unresting madness, time entirely his own.
He awoke barefoot, dancing on the earth to the rhythm of the drum; in his spins he calmed his being with no pain other than suffering, no obsession other than being reborn from hardships, anxiety; as witness, his truth, and as judge, his freedom.
He awoke neutralizing the silence, turning every attempt completely into fire, adding everything that upon waking he did not need, trotting against the wind on a march toward the problem he did not want solved, savoring in sips his firmament, all the complexity of vertigo and diligence, of the cure without remedy.
He awoke with his eyes open.
Osiris Valdés López
#chicago
Add comment
Comments