CELAYA, Gabriel

He who inhabits me

How odd, to behold myself, sitting here,

And close my eyes, and open them, and glance,

And hear how life crumbles, like a distant, rushing waterfall,

And close my eyes, and open them, and glance!

How very odd, to behold myself sitting here!

To see myself as though a plant that breathes,

And feel inside my chest a caged bird,

And a forceful thrust, pushing thickly through my veins!

How odd to see myself sitting here,

One hand clasping the other,

And touch myself, and smile, and say aloud

My own name, so devoid of meaning!

How odd, how irreparably odd!

The sheer shock silences my horror.

There is a stranger inside me

Who speaks as if I were somebody else.

Nights I cross the Park

Nights I cross the park that I had crossed time back

Only God knows when, and I walk alongside myself

Glancing in each other’s eyes with shared embarrassment

And although our shadows converge in one

What an abyss of suffering and joys

And many an unspeakable thing between you and I.

It is with some respect that I behold myself

No matter how much I pity my old countenance

And yet as we advance deep in the fragrance

Of grass so fresh as though of days gone by

I echo myself with regret, so wasted,

So obscure, already lost, with all hands lost.