The Cruel Embroidery
When it was night, behind that door,
next to a candle two old women laughed
Gradually killing a crooked spider.
And the joy they shared
Few have ever in the world ever,
But those who found her always blessed her.
Filled with fear, the cold creature
Danced horribly close to a flame
That slowly the body gnawed at him,
And the old women laughing watching from the bed
They were talking about how
With slower pain a vile body ignites.
Strange species of a living mud,
Being hunchbacked and only with seven legs
The spider howled all over its body
Expanding on external swellings
Causing the old women, with the horrendous red
From his ardor, the most tender sensations …
Thrilled, with shaking hands,
Then they came with a bunch of pins
That in each paw got stuck,
And the spider caught in a thousand snaps
It was only the thorns of a fiery silver
That I covered her in hellish vests.
And in this art they went ahead,
Then needles, and a burning perfume,
And after all, a huge pair of scissors,
Until the fire and the vanquished animal
Withered together on the angry table
In a thousand pieces of transient blackness,
And both old women, knowing nothing,
With immense face they devoured everything
What was left of the fatal journey.
While, looking at them, a silent portrait
Her husband was crying the pains
That covered him in the ancestral shield,
And the whole floor was opening in flowers
And a child, that nobody noticed,
Through the window I looked without fear
And it was growing, and in a rare way,
While the old women, wiping the doors,
In the clear night,
All the bitterness of the dead prophecies!