"Objects"

 

Forget those noble objects of tradition

—the jewelry, the clothes...—passed down

from father to son

for generations.

 

I want to talk about the void

that objects cannot fill.

 

*

 

An entire culture has drowned

in the symbols

of scarcity and departure.

 

What to hold on to

when the tide

keeps pushing us 

to the same beaches

of rum, tobacco, and sex;

the beaches of our filthy paradise:

the beaches of the brave ideal

sold to the world

without our truth?

 

What to hold on to

when there are no more islands?

 

*

 

It's sad that all these years

have made us miserable;

have erased our uniqueness;

have turned us into beings

that only pay attention

to our hunger.

 

What do you want to see?

I cannot show you more than my attempts

to forget

the circumstances that have made me what I am.

 

I cannot think of objects

other than suitcases, airplanes, rafts...

It's sad.

I would've loved to talk about my childhood.

But every thought takes me back to the same place,

and there's a voice behind my voice

—the voice of misery—

that wishes to be heard:

 

"An apple is a treasure;

a roll of toilet paper is a luxury..."

"Just wait... Just wait until we leave."

 

*

 

That's how I learned to be attached

to things

that I would never own or lose.

That's how I learned to be attached

to the rain, and the sunsets.

That's why I put more weight

in symbols than in objects.