"Mas essa dor da vida que devora
A ânsia de glória, o dolorido afã...
A dor no peito emudecera ao menos
Se eu morresse amanhã!"
Álvares de Azevedo
The clock melts on the wall
And in the room no more sound
But a strange frequency of silence
As if a crowd of ultrasonic bats
Went mute but still cried.
All the windows would close
And the world would be alien,
And maybe the night would
Become day, but not for me.
Engulfed by endless abstraction
The whole reality would bow
And maybe a sigh of adieu
If I were to die right now.
Would I have time to sense
The vanishing of all that’s real,
Or would it be fast and lethal
Like a thunder, and my silent pain
Would become the scream of nature?
Maybe I would close my eyes
As if to hide my own weakness
Or stare vaguely into the void
Until a strange hand shut them.
Drowned in meaningless woe
I would share a tear of atonement
And imagine my mother crying
If I were to die in this moment.
Maybe a line or whole poem
Would float in the air, maybe Hamlet,
Too sleep and to dream, O how death
Comes so awfully quick and rips
All meaning in its hidden essence.
A moment of ultimate light
Before the vacuum of space
Maybe a scream of dissolving,
Maybe a cry of annulling.
Or maybe a joy of resting
Spiritual fulfilling decay,
To rest, O rest everlasting
From the pains of dying each day.