Los Heraldos Negros
Cesar Vallejo
The Black Heralds
There are blows in life, so strong
I don't know!
Blows like the hatred of God; as if before them
The aftermath of all that has been suffered
Pooled in the soul
I don't know!
They are few; but they are
They open dark trenches
In the fiercest face and the strongest back
They may be the steeds of barbaric Attilas
Or the black heralds that Death sends us
They are the deep falls of the Christs of the soul
Of some adorable faith that Destiny blasphemes
Those bloody blows are the crackling
Of some bread that burns in the oven door
And the poor man
Poor! Turns his eyes, as
When a pat on the shoulder calls us
He turns his eyes crazy, and all that has been lived
Pools, like a puddle of guilt, in the gaze
There are blows in life, so strong
I don't know!
