Nació la palabra en la sangre, creció en el cuerpo oscuro, palpitando, y voló con los labios y la boca. (The word was born in the blood, grew in the dark body, beating, and flew through the lips and the mouth.) Pablo Neruda, La palabra
Monday, August 31, 2015
Disconnected
By: Yohanes Manhitu
I picked up the phone,
dialed and tried to listen.
A very soft voice answered.
It was the voice of an angle.
Yes, the angel of uncertainty.
A big rain of words came,
I respired a sudden peace.
My lungs formed a choir,
No word described my joy.
The voice was a blessing.
I felt the soft rhythm of it,
I picked every word it said.
My lips danced in harmony,
My words ran in a formula,
My language was colloquial.
A quarter was a like a minute.
Rupiahs flowed like a waterfall.
Laughter and jokes came in turn.
A disaster arrived in the middle:
A cable evil kidnapped the angel.
Samosir, North Sumatra, 26 May 2003

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