El farolero
Al final del túnel, donde hasta la oscuridad se pierde y los sonidos se apagan, el farolero avanza, pero su andar es tan lento, tan lento, que los días se hacen eternos y las noches infinitas, aquellas donde la luna brilla y se esconde al mismo tiempo.
Y retumban las gotas al caer al piso, uno que no existe, no hay tierra ni menos rocas, más el sonido de sus pasos quiebran la vida en un instante. El reloj se detiene, temeroso quizás de verlo llegar y es que el farolero pareciera un alma, solo su nombre más este ni siquiera le pertenece.
Se lo dieron un día sin que éste lo pidiera. Su farol en la mano, una mano que no existe porque es la brisa la que carga la luz de la misma penumbra. Un paso, más bien flotando, por el túnel qué no empieza y al final acaba.
Dos pasos ha dado el farolero y en sus ojos las lágrimas de una tristeza incomprendida, ya que el mismo no comprende porque brotan tan amargas. La hiel cae quemando el rostro y apagando las palabras que buscan salir y el farolero avanza sin querer hacerlo, sin querer llegar a donde debe hacerlo.
Y al final del mismo tiempo que no es el suyo propio, sino el mío o quizás el tuyo, ya que el farolero avanza por el túnel de la vida, buscando al alma que del plano terrenal se esfumó. El guía entre la vida y la muerte, farolero le han llamado, ya que su nombre real era la muerte.
El farolero con su luz difusa, en su lento andar, busca tardar dos siglos, para al final venirte a buscar.
English
The lamplighter
At the end of the tunnel, where even darkness is lost and sounds fade away, the lamplighter moves forward, but his pace is so slow, so slow, that days become eternal and nights endless, those where the moon shines and hides at the same time.
And the drops rumble as they fall to the floor, one that does not exist, there is no earth, let alone rocks, but the sound of his footsteps breaks life in an instant. The clock stops, perhaps afraid to see him arrive, for the lamplighter seems like a soul, only his name, but even that does not belong to him.
They gave it to him one day without him asking for it. His lantern in his hand, a hand that does not exist because it is the breeze that carries the light from the same darkness. One step, or rather floating, through the tunnel that does not begin and ends at the end.
The lamplighter has taken two steps and in his eyes are tears of misunderstood sadness, for he himself does not understand why they flow so bitterly. The bile falls, burning his face and extinguishing the words that seek to escape, and the lamplighter moves forward without wanting to, without wanting to reach where he must.
And at the end of the same time that is not his own, but mine or perhaps yours, as the lamplighter moves forward through the tunnel of life, searching for the soul that vanished from the earthly plane. The guide between life and death, they have called him lamplighter, since his real name was death.
The lamplighter with his diffuse light, in his slow walk, seeks to take two centuries to finally come and find you.
Prosa poética de issymarie
Imagen obtenida en Meta IA.
Texto traducido en deepl versión free.
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