Copyright: Mares P. W., 2021
Commercial rights: FuTuRisN LLC
Artist: Generative AI, Mares P. W.
Workshop: The Mechanical Shakespeare
Keywords: sadness, lost, cancer, tombstone, funeral, death.
Original language: Spanish
Translation: English

  • Ground vibrations caused by individual rocks resonate between 10 and 150 Hz and larger stones generate lower peak frequencies. Since we have heartbeat-powered pacifiers, we might as well transmit vibration to a tombstone at least metaphorically.
  • The closest meter of the poem is “arrhythmic” or “irregular.”

The poem tells of a mother addressing her son as her spirit leaves the earth. The son emigrated in search of a better life and did not show up at her funeral.

Arritmia de lápida

— Original, All Rights Reserved —

Piedra soy,
contaminada por las lloviznas de agua,
suelo triturado de los indefensos,
una mezcla híbrida del mártir del cáncer
y la maestra del coro del cementerio.

Piedra soy,
paralizada en una tristeza melódica
en los ronquidos de este país dormido,
adornado con muñecas que caen
en lo más profundo del ser humano,
en el principio científico
del sacrificio hundido
que las frentes inferiores encuentran
tras las rejas justo antes de dormirse
en la miseria que llevan dentro
desde el principio de los tiempos.

Piedra soy,
con lengua híspida y tejido tormentoso,
acostumbrada a los llantos de la noche,
sufriendo erupciones de luz polimorfa,
evadiendo los días de los idiotas,
gente holgazana que se desvanece
como perros a los pies de su dueño,
meneando la cola mansamente
sin reconocer ni medir el daño
que ellos mismos permitieron
que sus amos infligieran
a sus propios hijos:
¡misantropía y desdén!

Piedra soy
y lloro diamantes,
soy hostil,
soy negra,
soy áspera como piel de dragones,
una tumba tosca,
una cabeza que no dejarán levantarse,
porque miro a los ojos,
porque mi frente es la de una piedra.

Piedra soy.
Soy funeral.
Soy la madre que luchó por ti
incluso cuando tú me abandonaste.

Tombstone Arrhythmia

— Translation, All Rights Reserved —

I am a stone,
polluted by the drizzles of water,
crushed soil of the defenseless,
a hybrid mix of the cancer martyr
and the cemetery choir teacher.

I am a stone,
paralyzed in melodic sadness
in the snoring of this sleeping country,
adorned with falling dolls
in the depths of the human being,
in the scientific principle
of the sunken sacrifice
that the lower foreheads find
behind bars just before falling asleep
in the misery that they carry inside
from the beginning of times.

I am a stone,
with hispid tongue and stormy tissue,
accustomed to the cries of the night,
suffering from eruptions of polymorphous light,
evading the days of idiots,
lazy people fading
like dogs at the feet of their owner,
wagging their tails meekly
without recognizing or measuring the damage
that they allowed themselves
that their masters inflict
to their own children:
misanthropy and disdain!

I am a stone
and I cry diamonds,
I am hostile,
I am black,
I am scratchy like the skin of a dragon,
a rough grave,
a head that they won’t let rise,
because I look into the eyes,
because my forehead is that of a stone.

I am a stone.
I am a funeral.
I am the mother who fought for you
even when you left me.