To Jorge Carrera
Andrade.
Like Andrade, I am another inhabitant without memories and with strange desires, a citizen of a hundred towns and prodigious capitals, a pilgrim man who recognizes and longs for the windows of the earth. I am a humble Asian with rice and chopsticks. The European friend of the subway, the cab driver of Angola, and the military man of Sydney, I am an Indian of America, the half-breed, the yellow, the black, and the other men of the planet. On my chest, the villages sign continental agreements.
YOU ARE READING
When I close my door
PoetryI dedicate this work to all the friends who are left in the heart. To all those who love me. In When I close my door, a social interest and a renunciation for the sake of communication is explicit, the subject destroys his exterior, recomposes himse...
