January 20, 2012
- Rene Daumal – “The Prophet” -
The child who was speaking in the name of the sun
used to go into the streets of the dead village;
rats would run towards his bare feet
when he stopped at the crossroads.
The child called with a voice full of ships,
white sails and flying fish,
and men who had turned into stone
creaked as they were awakened.
It was a dawn foretold by the hissing arrows
of the neighborhood’s happy archers,
men came, each carrying his night
like an umbrella.
They crouched around the child,
their big, red eyes were laughing,
their large mouths spit sand through
their teeth.
The child who was speaking in the name of the sun
said: “Listen no longer to the crow of the foolish
rooster,” and in the streets men with long lips
slapped their asses with laughter.
The child said: “You laugh, you laugh,
but when you awaken with your ears
full of blood, the you will laugh
no longer.”
His head fell, broken and warm,
on the shoulder of a young woman,
she thought he wanted to kiss her
and she laughed out of fear.
“You are laughing, you are laughing,” he said to her,
and the men showed their yellow fangs.
“Your laughter is not the alms
that the heavenly Mouth begs for.
It needs your young children,
your freshly cut noses,
it needs a harvest of toes
for its supper.”
The great Mouth laughed and laughed,
she sizzled and glistened.
“You laugh, you laugh, fearsome grandmother,
but soon, old lady, your sons and daughters
will laugh no longer, will laugh no longer.
You laugh under your evening umbrellas.
They are going to break, they are going to break,
listen to the great Mouth laugh,
for soon you will laugh no longer.”
