Said the great writer Octavio Paz
The sun devours uncertain remains;
the broken sky, cleft, is a pit;
the light is tied to the ruinous wall;
dust and saltpeter blow its deserts.
The ash trees stand taller, more awake,
and the silent square grows dark,
so blindly palpated and so handcuffed
as wounded with edges always open.
Streets into which nothingness flows,
streets without end walked, raving
of unveiled thought.
Everything that names me or that evokes me
lies, city, in you, lies empty,
in your buried stone chest.
What better way to define a twilight?
See you next time!
For the technical detail of the photos I have used as background the Wallpaper designed by The Peak Studio to whom I thank for the kind and disinterested concession of use.
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