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.
Masicas:
A character from a Jose Marti children's story.
(Poem of the book "Echoes of sorrow")
© YN 2010