
To Antonio Diaz Lopez (Monono)
(1920-2010)
A man, ninety years a beggar of mercy,
A missionary, a father, a husband, a child,
Fearless of death,
Fearless of the roundness of the earth,
Now leaves behind his scruples, leaves behind a mobile force
That yields a golden fluid wisdom, leaves behind
A galaxy of memories, a tuft of penances, a
Mirror for the reflection
Of oneself, a reflection that
Swells, surges, prompts one into a sweet incessant
Oblivion that can, cannot, will, will not, succeed.
What is ninety years contending on this earth?
Nothing.
For he was always merely a child, an adolescent...
Waiting
For the sweet fragrance of dawn to alight
Upon his verdant immortal brow.
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