Mental virus

I'm ill, I know that to say so

is to be so.

It's a lamentation at the

decision by my blood

that yesterday gave huge signs

of vitality.

My illness has as yet no name,

it's like the Masicas complex-

-get me out of this mess,

'what does the woodcutter want?'

'Nothing for myself, it's for my wife,

who's never happy...'

Nothing is enough to entertain

the blue serpent,

to kill the hunger that leaves its bite.

I hide under the mosquito net,

the mosquitos show me their fangs.

Could you have seen

a similar distortion of reality!

I'm ill, it's not dengue,

as I said before my illness is not known.

Step by step I'm developing a

resin that covers me

and an agreeable fragrance of death

that surrounds me.

I dread the mosquitos,

the blue serpent

and dread the mosquito net

that will soon be a bandage

for my wounds.


A character from a Jose Marti children's story.

(Poem of the book "Echoes of sorrow")

© YN 2010