Monday, August 24, 2015

Black Stone on a White Stone



I will die in Paris while it rains,
on a day which I already remember.
I will die in Paris – and I do not run away –
perhaps in the Autumn, on a Thursday, as it is today.
It will be a Thursday, because today,
The Thursday that I write these lines,
my bones feel the turn,
and never so much as today, in all my road,
have I seen myself alone.
Cesar Vallejo

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