The Mandala from Amor sin fin (Forever Love)

Abstract

poetry I can’t free myself from my boredom always completing circles swallowing myself like the serpent swallows its tail. I’m scarcely a dream of some trivial poet a flying carpet that discovers trails then loses them. I am the voice that calls me and I don’t decipher the flame that ignites and lies hidden my mandala covers me drifts away returns you are at the center holding a sword and a flower surrounded by drawings that trouble me spider webs entwined pizpizigaña juguemos la araña* mandrakes fireflies sirens unicorns poems that start but don’t end the poem, the poem I’ll never finish it catches up and abandons me hides in debris Ali Baba’s caves blurred faces scattered numbers – the one that reigns is the five petals that one day will dance on my grave you will be my juggler and always were you sang my sadness our love the joy and drew your singing with crests of words opening in colors the coarse beauty of stones that convert to flames and get inside me and I rejoice even though they burn me I sing and sing. I oppose those who think love is docile it appears as it wishes without being called and rises and falls and transforms itself and dies and resurrects sometimes and doesn’t die. Love is pain joy the ego altered surrender The Mandala from Amor sin fin (Forever Love) by Claribel Alegría for Bud¡Sí, es azul, tiene que ser azul! – José Gorostiza 38 WLT MAY–JUNE 2018 possession enjoyment and yoke mystery and battle prison horror desire to escape vigil and dream a challenge to life and death. What’s wrong with my love? It’s turned to violet: an inescapable interlude. Passions rule me I don’t reason reason confuses me and I sing and sing, “What’s your name? Matarilililili.”+ I go on among scorpions wounds and silhouettes herds of giraffes trying to reach the stars. I light my lamp again light the caves that guard my mandala my mandala a challenge a hideout I don’t understand it an infinite puzzle my whole life there all my I the caves hold dreams that burst into my dreams I feel like the character of an impersonal tale who searches and searches but never finds anything not even her name Matarilililili. Was the she-wolf mocking? April is the cruellest month Was her gaze one of mockery and not love? I’ve always been fearful prophesying deceits and disasters believed by no one. I’m Cassandra suddenly silent I’m the she-wolf Cassandra and just howl amazed by the world that worsens day by day. How do I sing this my minstrel? I don’t want you to sing it your lips will wrinkle become white the horror and rage will move you away from me. My mandala envelops me – I discovered recently – the sun was crimson. When did you arrive? You are the center what matters is the search and that leap toward the search challenges us. Navigating between light and dark there are floating memories: Izalco, Momotombo Machu Picchu those are my riches the memories that float and never die they cover me reveal me I have seen my mandala at last I’ve seen you you ignore my questions but I know you are me my compass my map the gypsy the obsessive traces of my earthly wandering. I’m exiled in this threshold my sense of smell revives my ghosts the city of my childhood its markets – no rumor subdues its rumors, no aroma its aromas. Don’t say anything free the heart to travel and travel to ask death, who is alive, for that final kiss it craves. Let it drink the air drink the green that surrounds it. My life flickers I burn with desire explore new worlds see them with my ear savoring their skin with the febrile tips of my fingers. I want to liberate the heart from lament images vestiges so it plunges naked into the void so it goes mad whistles hurls its accumulated love at the spheres. Translation from the Spanish By...