Anahita Avalos's blog

Away with heaven,
away with the light and its razor,
away with saltpeter walls,
away with streets that open forever on more streets.

Away with the bristling windows of my skin,
away with my nails and my teeth
fallen into the well of the mirror.
Away with the door that is shut,
the body that opens.
Away with carnivorous love,
destructive purity,
silk claws, lips of ashes.

Away with earth or heaven.

Seated at the tables
where they drink the blood of the poor:
the table of money,
the tables of glory and of justice,
the table of power and the table of God
--the Holy Family in its Manger,
the Fountains of Life,
the broken mirror where Narcissus
drinks of himself and does not slake his thirst
and the liver, food of prophets and vultures...

Away with earth or heaven.

Cohabiting secretly
on sleepless sheets,
bodies of lime and plaster,
stones, ashes stiff with cold
when the light touches them;
and tombs built of stones on words,
their silent partner, the tower of Babel
and the yawning sky
and hell biting its own tail
and the resurrection
and the day of life that persists and endures,
day without twilight,
the visceral paradise of the embryo.

I used to believe in all this.
Today I sing alone
on a shore of wailing.
Wailing, too, will do for a pillow.

~~Octavio Paz