Alejandro Aura died the past 30th of July 2008, in Madrid, as a result of the cancer that afflicted him for a long time ago.

He was an untiring mexican writer, a literature lover, a poet and promoter of the culture. And like everyone else, good or bad, untiring or tired, he died on the same common day in which so many others died.

He is now gone. But with great literary beauty, he published a text on his blog, shortly before he got back to the hospital he never left again…

Knowers say traduttore, traditori, (translator, traitor) on regards of poetry. Therefore, please read my translation only as a prose done by no pro, just a simple guy who thinks this simple and beautifull text should be known in other languages, and ejoy it.

GOODBYE

Therefore, it is necessary at some time to close the account,
to request the coats and leave,
here the things that we brought to the century will remain
as will the things in that we put our identity;
others will remain too, that each time are others
and between whom there will be needed to be constructed what follows,
also the hollow of our imagination remains
so that others will be in charge to fill it,
and we go away to the nothing as the plants do,
like the birds, like everything that for a time is alive
and then, without resentment, it stops being.

Can you imagine the splendor of the heavens of the tigers,
there where gacelas jump among with fleshy grupas
waiting for the claw that falls once and another and another
time eternaly? That is the heaven  I aspire. A heaven
with my fauces and my claws. Or the heaven of the herons
where the time moves so slowly
that the water has time to bathe and to play in the water.
Or the sexual heaven of the begonias in which never they go out
the iridescent lights of whispering with their makedup cheeks. The cruel heaven of the grass, hopeful and eternal like the existence of the Gods.
Or the multifacetic heaven of the wine that is always dreaming
of throats of marriageable girls that choke and laugh.

What stays there was no way to amend
not even withe the more mathematics that we were throwing without rest,
it was already incomplete from the start of the eras
and no one has had the comfort necessary to sit down
to undo the exciting intríngulis of the creation,
so that it remains as it was, with its million,
billions, trillones of incomprehensible galaxies at the hand,
hoping to that somebody has the time to see the blueprints
and the complete view and deciphers it and it can be solved.
We go away. I make a caravan to the people that I am already missing so much,
and I say goodbye.

Ejoy your weekend. Live, laugh, make love; we always need to be ready to say goodbye…