Saturday, January 6, 2018

The Dream, Jorge Luis Borges

While the midnight clocks are wasting
abundant time,
I will go further than the shipmates of Ulysses
Into the dream region, inaccessible
To human memory,
Salvaged from an immersed region
That I can’t plumb:
Botanical simples,
Strange animals,
Dialogues with the dead,
Faces that are actually masks,
Words of very old languages,
And sometimes a horror incomparable
to anything the day can give.
I will be everyone or no one. I will be the other
I am without knowing, the one who has watched
This other dream, my waking. He
assesses it, resigned and smiling.