In the room, there sits a man in a suit,
light-coloured tie and shirt
next to his desk.
Behind him, a woman with a sealed face
lit by the early afternoon sunlight,
which rests on the tall cupboard and the objects that consume her.
It’s 1.32.
Each minute,
1.33
1.34
A small tree is born with sparse leaves.
Time passes,
1.35
going backwards.
The trees, the leaves, multiply and the objects disappear.
The bodies, ever more naked, emptied,
in the room that the fertile earth swallowed
and in which the dream reappeared,
the eternal dream of paradise regained.
Like a pure imagined garden,
Not from the past, nor from the future,
But from today and from always, from the present.
- And the animals? Where are they hiding?
Under the flesh of the body,
over the body of the untouched earth,
a male and a female, of each species.
Pieces of the same wild soul dissimulated
In bright colours of trees in fruit
and in perfume of flowers,
which the wet earth engenders.
A thousand tones of crystalline green and violet,
melted into the songs of the water and the birds
at the dawning of the Spring sun.
A man and a woman are lying
on the fresh morning grass.
Their raw skin caressed by the breeze and the body
of each other,
in the discreet company of the play
of deer, lions, hares and monkeys.
Around them, in that walled garden
or sacred space,
a group of men and women
dances in sincere harmony,
like inhabitants of a measureless time,
and a never-ending joy.
- And the night? Does it not appear?
The day is not eternal,
although beneath the armour of a crystal palace,
everything glitters, everything sparkles.
Riches from all the ends of the Earth and
exotic countries
microscopes, telegraphs, barometers
and Jacquard looms.
Indian diamonds and Egyptian statues,
amidst the garden’s ancient elms.
The whole spectacle of industry
or of supernatural hands
of unequalled creation.
And beneath the filtered light,
the newly-tamed nature
of springs and imported palm-trees
transforms the future into past.
- But everything disappears!
Everything one day becomes waste.
The fall – they say –
is the fault of knowledge and the devastation
of man’s temptation.
Strange paradox,
when night finally comes
and inside another palace,
the light passes through a thousand oculi
illuminating the last garden.
Remnants of past vices
peep out, still, from between the trees.
Far from the gazes,
the degraded mattress of the roadside.
Floating at the water’s edges
are bottles, cans, various detritus
witnesses of the future that swallowed
the entire civilisation.
Compossibility of distinct worlds.
On the one side paradise,
the birds circling overhead
the ethereal cap formerly threatened with ruin.
In the forest, the animals delight
in the play of their labyrinths.
Eve reincarnate rests in the solitude of the sand
listening to the soft murmur of the water fall.
On the other side, the voracious instinct
of the other’s food,
of the fleeting instant
and of the dizzying speed that
slips between the fingers
and corrodes everything, everything that money
can buy.
Voyeurs of the future
over the rubble of society
and nature
- Oh, Nature!
Conserved in the future
as immaculate spectacle.