DEL DIARIO DE UN COMBATIENTE OBLIGADO FROM THE DIARY OF A CONSCRIPTED SOLDIER
Anabel Torres trans. the poet

Mis sílabas estaban dispersas
como camellos antes de partir.
La noche anterior me había mirado
en el espejo roto de la luna.
Pensaba en ti, como no puedo dejar de pensar en ti,

separados como estamos por esta guerra que no tiene fin.

No pude escribirte ni unas líneas
hasta hoy. Nos llamaron a desplazarnos por el desierto.
Hassan murió. Una granada le había estallado cerca.

No lo destrozó, sin embargo.
Se hubiera podido salvar.

Tampoco estaba imposibilitado por el dolor.
Simplemente vio.
Vio los estragos inconmensurables
de la guerra sitiándonos
y con una pistola
que tenía al alcance de su mano aún sana
se apuntó a la sien y disparó.

Hassan y yo no éramos amigos íntimos.
Habíamos tenido incluso enfrentamientos
acosados como estábamos por la fatiga,
la soledad y el sol

y por esta locura como un desierto
que circunda el mundo
después de muertas casi todas sus semillas.

No éramos amigos íntimos, pero desde que Hassan murió
algo mío tambien murió,
algo que a partir de su ausencia no halla consuelo
ni en tu recuerdo ni en tu nombre.

A Maria Mercedes Carranza, fallecida el 25 de Julio 2003,
y a su hermosa Melibea


My syllables lay scattered
Like camels before the journey.
The night before I'd looked into the broken mirror
Of the moon.
I was thinking about you, because I can never stop
......................................................... thinking about you.
Separated as we are by this war without end.

I couldn't write to you
Until today. We were suddenly called to march in the desert.
Hassan died. A grenade exploded in front of him.

It didn't destroy him, though.
He could have survived.

He wasn't incapacitated by pain either.
It's just that he saw.
He saw the carnage of war
that surrounded him,
its devastation,
And with the hand that he still had intact
Put a pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Hassan and I weren't close friends.
There had even been some clashes between us,
Hounded here, as we have been, by fatigue,
Loneliness and the endless sunlight

And by this lunacy like a desert
Encircling the world
After most of its seeds have died.

We weren't best friends, but ever since Hassan died
Something in me has also died,
Something that since his absence
Just won't let me find comfort, not even in your name.

To Maria Mercedes Carranza, dead on 25 July 2003,
and to her beautiful Melibea


Copyright © Anabel Torres & Ediciones Árbol de Papel 2004 - publ. Ediciones Árbol de Papel


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