Considering in the Cold, Impartially





Considering in the cold, impartially,
that man is sad, coughs and, nevertheless,
takes pleasure in his reddened chest;
that the only thing he does is to consist
of days;
that he is a gloomy mammal that combs itself . . .

Considering
that man proceeds smoothly from his job
and affecting his boss, resounds subordinate;
that the diagram of time
is a constant diorama in his medals
and, half-opened, his eyes will study,
from distant times,
his hungering formula of dough . . .

Understanding without effort
that man remains, at times, thinking,
as if wanting to cry,
and, subject to lie down like an object,
makes of himself a good carpenter, sweats, kills,
and later sings, has lunch, buttons himself up . . .

Examining, at last,
his stumbled upon pieces, his lavatory,
his desperation, in terminating his atrocious day, rubbing it out . . .

Considering also
that man is in truth an animal
and, nevertheless, in turning round, gives to me the sadness of his head . . .

Understanding
that he knows that I love him,
that I hate him with feeling and that he is, to me, in sum, indifferent . . .

Considering his general documents
and looking through glasses at that certificate
that proves that he was born very diminutive . . .

I make a sign to him,
he comes,
and I embrace him, passionately.
What more can it be!  Passionately . . .  Passionately . . .


Cesar Vallejo