cosas que explotan
I. la taza
estábamos afuera
tomando café
una tarde cualquiera;
los últimos rayos del sol
se filtraban
a través de tu pelo;
yo miraba la taza
apenas humeante
entre tus manos;
no hacía frío,
y el café
se me antojaba
innecesario,
como tantas otras cosas;
miraba la taza,
y podía ver
un pequeño temblor,
inquietante,
pequeñísimo,
como si algo,
finalmente,
estuviera a punto
de suceder;
vos decías algo
sobre los pájaros,
o quizás hablabas
sobre pintar las rejas,
o sobre el futuro
(tal vez,
después de todo,
no era
una tarde cualquiera);
entonces,
la taza
comenzó
a explotar
muy lentamente;
tus labios
se movían
a la velocidad
a la que se dicen
las cosas
sin importancia;
pero la taza
explotaba
lentamente:
podía ver
las rajaduras
y luego
las grietas,
mientras los pájaros
volaban
de árbol en árbol
a la velocidad
a la que vuelan
los pájaros
y la brisa
soplaba
a una velocidad
posible
para una brisa;
en tanto,
los fragmentos
de loza
se separaban
muy despacio
en todas
direcciones
y el líquido
permanecía
unos instantes
suspendido,
mientras
tus ojos
pestañeaban
a la velocidad
a la que pestañean
los ojos;
miraba la taza
explotando
cuando,
de pronto,
no lentamente,
la taza
volvió
a su lugar,
humeante,
apenas iluminada
por los últimos
rayos del sol
que se filtraban
a través de tu pelo,
y vos seguías diciendo
algo sobre la vida,
o quizás hablabas
sobre lo caro
que estaba todo,
y se podía sentir
en la taza
la decepción del universo
por que las cosas
siguieran su curso
II. las palabras
tus labios
se movían
pero no había
sonido;
era encantador
verlos
a través
de los fragmentos
de loza
o a través
del café
suspendido
en el aire;
podía ver
cómo
las palabras
ondulaban
el aire
a tu alrededor,
nada más
y nada menos;
no tenían
el sentido
que suelen
tener
las palabras,
pero tampoco
estaban ausentes:
entre crestas
y valles
hacían
que el café
se estremeciera,
y eso es algo
que no puede
desdeñarse
fácilmente:
estaban
vacías,
como tantas otras cosas,
y quizás
no eran
lo que llamarías
palabras,
pero es así
como las llamamos,
y es que
tus labios
solo cobraban
sentido
en retrospectiva,
a partir del momento
en que se rasgó
la tela
y algo sucedió
finalmente
aunque
nunca
haya sucedido
y aunque
nunca
te hayas dado cuenta
III. el universo
por alguna razón
esto
no lo dije
antes:
mientras hablabas
creí verte
aferrada,
en el aire,
a un fragmento
cualquiera
de la loza;
esto es:
al único lugar
al que podías
aferrarte
no sé decir
más que eso
sobre el universo
[ENG - Translated with Deepl. The translation of poetry is very complex, therefore, in this case, it is not intended to have literary value, but only to serve as an orientation for reading.]
things that explode
I. the cup
we were outside
drinking coffee
on a regular afternoon;
the last rays of the sun
were filtering
through your hair;
I looked at the cup
barely steaming
in your hands;
it wasn't cold,
and the coffee
seemed to me
unnecessary,
like so many other things;
I looked at the cup,
and I could see
a small tremor,
disturbing,
very small,
as if something,
finally,
was about to
to happen;
you were saying something
about the birds,
or maybe you were talking
about painting the railings,
or about the future
(maybe,
after all,
it wasn't just
a regular afternoon);
then,
the cup
began
to explode
very slowly;
your lips
were moving
at the speed
at which
unimportant things
are said;
but the cup
exploded
slowly:
I could see
the cracks
and then
the fissures,
while the birds
flew
from tree to tree
at the speed
at which
birds fly
and the breeze
blew
at a speed
possible
for a breeze;
in the meantime,
the fragments
of earthenware
were separating
very slowly
in all
directions
and the liquid
remained
for a few moments
suspended,
while
your eyes
blinked
at the speed
at which
eyes blink;
I watched the cup
exploding
when,
suddenly,
not slowly,
the cup
returned
to its place,
steaming,
barely illuminated
by the last
rays of the sun
that filtered
through your hair,
and you kept saying
something about life,
or maybe you were talking
about how expensive
everything was,
and one could feel
in the cup
the disappointment
of the universe
that things
followed their course
II. the words
your lips
were moving
but there was no
sound;
it was lovely
to see them
through
the fragments
of earthenware
or through
the coffee
suspended
in the air;
I could see
how
the words
rippled
the air
around you,
nothing more
and nothing less;
they didn't have
the meaning
that words
usually
have,
but they
were not absent
either:
between ridges
and valleys
made
the coffee
shuddered,
and that is something
that cannot be
be disdained
easily:
they were
empty,
like so many other things,
and perhaps
were not
what you would call
words,
but that's
how we call them,
and it's that
your lips
only made
sense
in retrospect,
from the moment
when the fabric
was torn
and something happened
finally
although
never
happened
and even if it
you never
realized it
III. the universe
for some reason
I didn't say it
before:
while you were talking
I thought I saw you
clinging
in the air,
to a random
fragment
of the earthenware;
that is:
to the only place
to which you could
cling to
I can't say
more than that
about the universe
La fotografía es de pxhere y se encuentra en dominio público.
The photograph is by pxhere and is in the public domain.