A Thousand Years Of Madness Poem by Gabyel Rei Guillen

It so happens that I am a sad man
That I sit on this bench alone
Or I eat on that plate without food
Or I simply walk on the street without
Shoes

It so happens that I am visited by ghost and deadly apparitions
When I go to bed, and I talk to them,
Scolding them for dying and leaving me here
With my breath, my body, my soul, my uncovered feet
It is so much that I grow jealous at them for being transparent
And that they can imitate the moon and the night,
Appear and go as they please,

I go to sleep thinking of rocks and the soil and how reclined
I am with them

Afterwards I sit on my hammock and sulk their for the whole day
Contemplating on my apples and blue tulips.
How ugly they are!

It so happens that I am a destroyed being
That I am not even a man anymore,
maybe I am not
I am just this spirit or lone tree or rock
A mistake in space and time

A solitary planet over blue waters
Small enough to mingle in the sand

And I hate it that I have to be awake during the day
That I have to walk in the grocer’s store or in the butcher’s shop
I hate the morning, I despise it, loath it
Its brightness hurt my eyes, and women’s fragrances
Hurt my nose,
It would be beautiful if I can engulf the day
And spit it out again as night
Or it would be interesting, even tasty if I can go to church naked
Peck that boy with a pebble, or eat the whole cow by myself

Above all
I wanted to be these words,
Free, distant, cold,
These words write themselves with dread
And decay, as if they were catacombs
And deep forests, an abyss under the ocean
Or the cold dark stares of a native, like nails and dead hairs
Or a wide blue knife that when engaged into happy hearts
Springs like stars glowing during midnights
I wanted to be that tunnel, and I would be excited,
Tickled when insects and snakes and roots
Would slither inside of me.
I would be in the soil,
And I would be once more happy
Happy that I am damp, and unfertile
Unfriendly to plants, and flowers, and little feet
Briskly walking when I pinch them with my rocks
And my thorns

It so happens that I am alive and I was born out of pity.
What kind of god was that? Bringing a child into the world
So it can suffer in the joys of breathing

It so happens that I am tired and my soul is absent
And I sob hard and deliciously when I pass by lovers
And gardens

Ahh, I wanted to be that rock, that tunnel, those words
And I hate every moment that would take mornings to
Walk and reach night
I do not like it that there are bones and flowers
Beneath the soil immersed in an act of love
I dislike that the streets are cobbled by stones
And wish that there would be an intimate odium amongst
School children,

You cannot blame me,
I have no fault for fault does not own me
And I owe fault nothing
The truth was,
If I find spring times, and golden summers
I would have wanted to like it
If I were offered the aromatic delightfulness of cream
And salmons, and grapes,
Oranges,
My heart would have wept with joy
And the heavens would have worshipped me,
Sunlight would have discovered my face
And made laughter a shelter on my lips

All of this I would have liked,
Wanted and eaten all with fervor and ardor
Intimately and profusely,
If not for the fact that am born missing one of my left fingers
And the sole on my foot.
The rest of my soul.