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11/22/2009 3:35:51 AM
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I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm, On a day I already remember. I shall die in Paris-- it does not bother me-- Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn. It shall be a Thursday, because today, Thursday As I put down these lines, I have set my shoulders To the evil. Never like today have I turned, And headed my whole journey to the ways where I am alone. César Vallejo is dead. They struck him, All of them, though he did nothing to them, They hit him hard with a stick and hard also With the end of a rope. Witnesses are: the Thursdays, The shoulder bones, the loneliness, the rain, and the roads... Cesar Vallejo
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