Oblivion
Vicente Aleixandre (Sevilla, 1898-1984)
is not your cup final as a vain
to be rushed. Throw the old, and dies. Therefore
slowly lift your hand
a glow or a mention, and burn your fingers,
as a sudden snow.
It was not, but was and remains silent.
Cold burning and your eyes born
memory. Remembering is obscene,
worse: it is sad. To forget is to die.
Died with dignity. His shadow crossed.
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