tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7593974398088596280.post2513920371073238699..comments2023-05-17T11:14:29.058-04:00Comments on small: prayer after eatingRuthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14204074161539605133noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7593974398088596280.post-48867651869614006542013-05-17T06:02:38.192-04:002013-05-17T06:02:38.192-04:00And to have sat at that table...may I be worthy ag...And to have sat at that table...may I be worthy again!Ginnie Harthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14014434422568561157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7593974398088596280.post-25198699704040758802013-05-16T10:26:25.843-04:002013-05-16T10:26:25.843-04:00you've entered a new place,
or you have entere...you've entered a new place,<br />or you have entered the same place<br />through a new door.<br /><br />i want to come too.<br /><br />i want to stay.<br /><br />i've brought this poem before to our world and i bring it again. i crave a paradigm shift and am saddened to believe that in order for the full shift the human (might) must be absent and so i crave the smaller shift that might (must) happen inside of me.<br /><br />Our Daily Bread<br /><br />Breakfast is drunk down … Damp earth<br /> of the cemetery gives off the fragrance of the precious blood.<br /> City of winter … the mordant crusade<br /> of a cart that seems to pull behind it<br /> an emotion of fasting that cannot get free!<br /> I wish I could beat on all the doors,<br /> and ask for somebody; and then<br /> look at the poor, and, while they wept softly,<br /> give bits of fresh bread to them.<br /> And plunder the rich of their vineyards<br /> with those two blessed hands<br /> which blasted the nails with one blow of light,<br /> and flew away from the Cross!<br /> Eyelash of morning, you cannot lift yourselves!<br /> Give us our daily bread,<br /> Lord … !<br />Every bone in me belongs to others;<br /> and maybe I robbed them.<br /> I came to take something for myself that maybe<br /> was meant for some other man;<br /> and I start thinking that, if I had not been born,<br /> another poor man could have drunk this coffee.<br /> I feel like a dirty thief … Where will I end?<br /> And in this frigid hour, when the earth<br /> has the odor of human dust and is so sad,<br /> I wish I could beat on all the doors<br /> and beg pardon from someone,<br /> and make bits of fresh bread for him<br /> here, in the oven of my heart … !<br /><br />by Cesar Vallejo<br /> Translated by James Wright<br /><br />xo<br />erinerinhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16636371927224076866noreply@blogger.com