I missed a verse (+audios and video).
Una mujer que no necesita de las aureolas de lo inmortal porque ella misma irradia una luz propia de los ángeles, sencilla como pocas, inmensa...
Carilda imposes herself from her infinite memory. She brings in her chest, almost carelessly and with the surprise of someone who loves for the first time, my lost verse.
A woman who does not need the haloes of the immortal, because she herself radiates the light of angels, simple as few, immense…
…ONLINE AUDIO
I have lost a verse and I don’t know where to find it. It disappeared the morning before last in August, six years ago. It had been orphaned, hidden in the endless white of an abandoned page in Tirry 81, fearful of the possibility of wandering eternally between rivers and bridges.
I remember it well: it was a syntagma with the light of a field of fireflies, sweet as raisins, more beautiful the more it resembled the one who gave it life, deserving, like her, the highest praise, the gift of immortality.
The verse with which the poetess dazzled the universe has been lost, the one that, because of its everyday nature, became part of the memories, loves and lives of all her readers. She threw herself into the emptiness of the suspensive points, into the uncertainty of the truncated dawns, into the suburbs of the word.
Then she appeared, with blonde hair that curls at night, with the memory that nests in the highest branches of herself, with poetry furrowing her lips, with the learned self-confidence and the freshness of the eternal young woman she always was until her 96 years.
But, to be dead Carilda would have to have disappeared, she would have to be the farewell that tears, the loneliness of mourning, the sad meowing of a cat at midnight, the delayed tear, the fiercest absence. Nothing could be further from the indomitable poetess.
To be dead, all the stars would have had to have died, all the hearts of the world would have had to have dried up, love would have had to have become mute, the hopes of the whole planet would have had to have been uprooted.
And I still wonder how your departure must be true if I find you flying along the ground without the cloud of the clouds, but with the thunderous sound of the most cutting verse, with the exquisite rhyme of passion, dressed in myth and legend.
…ONLINE AUDIO
…ONLINE VIDEO.
Written by Jessica Mesa.
