Tren de los Heridos
by Miguel Hernandez
Silence that shipwrecks in the silence
of the closed mouths of the night.
It doesn't stop being quiet, not even as its path is crossed.
It speaks the suffocated language of the dead.
Silence.
It opens paths of deep cotton,
gags the wheels, the watches,
stops the voice of the sea, of the dove,
emotes the night of dreams.
Silence.
The train raining with flowing blood,
the fragile train of those that bleed,
the silent, the suffering, the pale:
the hushed train of sufferings.
Silence.
Train of the mortal pallor that increases:
the pallor reviews the heads,
the "Ay!", the voice, the heart, the earth,
the heart of those who were badly wounded.
Silence.
They go spilling out legs, arms, eyes,
they go throwing fragments about the train.
They pass leaving signs of bitterness,
another Milky Way of starry members.
Silence.
Hoarse train, faint, turned red;
the coal agonizes, the smoke sighs,
and maternally, the machine sighs,
advances like a long discouragement.
Silence.
She would like to stop down in a tunnel,
the long mother, stretched out to sob.
There are no stations wherein to stop,
unless the hospital, unless the breast.
To live, one piece is enough:
in a corner of flesh can fit a man.
Just a finger, just a piece of wing
lifts off the flight of the whole body.
Silence.
Stop that agonizing train
that never finishes cruising the night.
And even the horse remains unshod,
and gets sand in its hoof and its breath.
3 comments were enough to get:
#29 - Most Discussed (Today) - Entertainment - Spanish
I guess the non-English language categories are still pretty sparse.
DClaudeKatz 5 years ago