To look the river made of time and water
and remember that the time is another river,
to know that we get lost like the river
and that the faces cross like the water
Jorge Luis Borges
Rivers are messengers
that carries the upheaval portrait of every face
uiums and whistles of the laundresses
down to the confluences of Bachué
knitting the veils that dress the sea
the more murky and corrupted the river
the less can knits the reflections
and get drown the transparent side
that traces the silhouette
on the steps of those lovers
that get kiss in the ridges
this music is a shout of rebellion
that the stones hoist
in homage to the fishes
slaughtered by the mercury
is the cry of hoarse elderly women
that don’t rest
till some kind of abandon
let them sleep in the banks
some rivers are witness
of human ignominy
they carry the obligation of hiding crimes evidences
and keep downhearted in the depths
silences of anonymous corpses
that lie a stone on the chest
and after the tireless pilgrimage
flow into the entrails
the water becomes in oracle
the frigates offers the shadow
to the spectral murmuring
of the shipwrecks
the ghosts become
in confidants
of
the
waves
and the sweating of fishermen
embraces with the tears of gods that die
in the oblivion
