FROM PROMETEIDA Poem by Fernando Rendón

Delegates of the centuries arranged to meet around the ruined table, and at cards - with
contrary sentiments - they play the destiny of the kingdoms of life.

The magician has made himself invisible. The lovers have a good star even though they
are trapped. It is the Devil with the cards of the crown and death who has engendered
anxiety in the game. Outside, the tower is still crumbling down. Not one civilization
could have raised itself up without the obstinate vision of madness.

Time advances toward its end. The players look at each other, hostile. There is a mortal
struggle for, at cards - with contrary sentiments - they play the destiny of the kingdoms
of life.

And the emperor and death again take all the chips by the side of their owner.

However there are reserves left. Nature sings its deposits. The moon becomes bigger.
The hanged man smiles, always invulnerable. The trial goes on transforming the solar
province into a universe without restrictions. The constellations descend near the heads
of the players.

Poetry takes out the events from the sleeve of its tunic. The world thus understands it.
And it gets ready to purify itself for the demanding activity of resurrection.