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Siempre es conmovedor el ocaso por indigente o charro que sea, pero más conmovedor todavía es aquel brillo desesperado y final que herrumbra la llanura cuando el sol último se ha hundido. Nos duele sostener esa luz tirante y distinta, esa alucinación que impone al espacio el unánime miedo de la sombra y que cesa de golpe cuando notamos su falsía, como cesan los sueños cuando sabemos que soñamos.
Jorge Luis Borges
And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, And penance more will do' He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood. Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns: And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. I pass like night, from land to land, I have strange power of speech; That moment that his face I see; I know the man that must hear me; To him my tale I teach.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Ivan Alejandro Escobar Broitman
Copyright © 1996 Ivan Alejandro Escobar Broitman
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