«No nos moveran» | Με το ποίημα του Πάμπλο Νερούδα «Alturas de Machu Picchu»


Pablo Neruda

Arise to birth with me my brother.

Give me your hand out of the depths sown by your sorrows.
You will not return from these stone fastnesses.
You will not emerge from subterannean time.
Your rasping voice will not come back, nor your pierced eyes rise from their sockets.
Look at me from the depths of the earth, tiller of fields, weaver, reticent shepherd, groom of totemic guanacos, mason high on your treacherous scaffolding, iceman of Andean tears, jeweler with crushed fingers, farmer anxious among his seedlings, potter wasted among his clays bring to the cup of this new life your ancient buried sorrows. Show me your blood andyour furrow; say to me:
here I was scourged because a gem was dull or because the earth failed to give up in time it`s tithe of corn or stone.
Point out to me the rock on which you stumbled, the wood they used to crucify your body. Strick the old flints to kindle ancient lamps, light up the whips glued to your wounds throughout.
the centuries and light the axes gleaming with your blood.
I come to speak for your dead mouths.
Throughout the earth let dead lips congregate out of the depths spin this long night with me as if I rode at anchor here with you.
And tell me everything, tell chain by chain, and link by link, and step by step; sharpen the knives you kept hidden away, thrust them into my breast, into my hands, like a torrent of sunbursts, an Amazon of buried jaguars, and leave me cry:
hours, days and years, blind ages, stellar centuries.
And give me silence, give me water, hope. Give me the struggle, the iron, the volcanos.
Let bodies cling like magnets to my body.
Come quickly into my veins and to my mouth.
Speak through my speech, and through my blood.