The picture is of the network. If you, the retirement.
Poema de Antonio Arráiz. Barquisimeto (Venezuela) from 1903 to 1962.
Parable of the mother
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The mother is a shadow ...
you know?
The mother is a shadow lying at the foot.
At dawn,
when the golden light illuminates only
a creature still weak and vacillating,
shadow caressing her feet
is long immensely.
And every hesitant stumbling creature,
with mortal anxiety
shadow trembles.
Then the sun rises. The boy becomes a man.
Shadow curls up at his feet.
It seems that life one is transfused into the other
and exhausted mother when the child grows.
When the sun shines in the zenith for the hero
upright in the vast plain that flatters,
meager, humble, poor,
anyone seen the shadow dwarfed at her feet.
But sometimes the light, life, sun,
the smiles that are lowered at sunset.
The formidable blow weakens.
The head of the hero,
robust head crowned roses, faint
mutely, bloodless will.
The imperceptible shadow that no one took into account
in a desperate excitement
again is huge ... wrapped with the child ...
swells and quickens, fierce, furious and tragic.
And when the hero dies in the shadow becomes night.
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