By
Alberto Quero
THRESHOLD AND PROCLAIMS
I
Smoke and silence are still equivalent:
the imminent sobbing and roar of this city
that never changes nor forgives,
the untranslatable frontier of delay,
of ambushes and madness.
But I have decided to give my battle
a flaring quietness,
the prodigious waiting for the things
that lay among the clouds.
My challenge has not ceased,
it just differs:
now I refrain from thick sleeplessness,
I lay aside this conclusive dispersion
of weariness and whispers.
To avoid inheriting so much wrath
and so many daggers,
I no longer try to catechize this tumult
of dust and noise;
to avoid inheriting so many futile fictions
of the hordes,
I no longer try to suppress unbearable labyrinths.
Flat and emancipated,
immaculate nomad,
I gather premonitions
and evade quotidian distances.
I carry this certitude of wind and guitars
to construct an excess:
a work of meekness and desire.
Slow and vast fate:
limit of fierce wounds,
collection of memories,
and I do not think I am lying to myself
II
I asked to be consecrated with sureness
so that it could be able to challenge the cliffs,
to be the crust of my widest wound
or a pause, constructed to survive.
And it seems I have been granted it:
I think a harmless fluctuation has defined me,
and an innocent declivity,
so I believe, so I seek.
I display new prophecies
And corroborate new fragments:
a ritual of hidden scrutiny.
Now I pull the searching and the clamor
and I am not tied to any forecast
Or, rather,
have I learned to rescue them
from the harsh delays?
III
Try to endure, I say to my own reflection:
I need to understand that I am adjacent to myself.
I try to be full of slowness
so that it may circumvent me and invoke prudence,
so that it may welcome pauses and artifices of hidden freedom.
I am still loyal to my impeccable habit
of vows and dissidence,
but now on a journey of renewed closeness
and a different docility.
I ask myself about the contour
that lays between naïveté and certitude
and I want to believe I have found it.
Now my voice wants to renovate a giant covenant,
to substitute a postponed and fragile siege
for a simple and spacious faith,
a faith of quest and burst,
a faith of grapes and wheat.
And that is the way my conviction does not go intact,
but this ample inspection
of remembrance and avidity subsists.
That is why I need to find
a permanent torch of shelter and garment.
IV
At this moment I am eager to swear before what is invisible
before the adjustment that may wait for me,
as a catapult of liturgy and resistance.
And I want to call it God,
confidence of peace and suspicions that widen.
And I want to call love or undamaged promise
this slow and sonorous tenacity,
to wait for it as an imperceptible shield,
as a freshness that will last
or as a new will to hide tiredness
and conjure diminutions and deteriorations.
And I want to invoke every abridgement
of dreams and pathways
and call decision of permanence and extension
or cancellation of fragments
this hunger for the things that ascend.
But I am still urged by
a determinant estrangement,
one that may hide ancient and foreign reminiscences,
a fire, a defense of permanence and caution.
Only then I will speak about
an indestructible redemption
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