Thursday, April 17, 2014

Gabo is Dead

Do not mourn,
nor look back.
Nostalgia kills
like a python.
Look ahead,
learn from the dead
and the living
and those in between.
And look about
through the petals of falling flowers
for the glory
and mystery
that is everywhere.

"...they saw a light rain of tiny yellow flowers falling.  They fell on the town all through the night in a silent storm, and they covered the roofs and blocked the doors and smothered the animals who slept outdoors.  So many flowers fell from the sky that in the morning the streets were carpeted with a compact cushion and they had to clear them away with shovels and rakes so that the funeral procession could pass by."   
-Cien años de soledad, G. Márquez, tr. G. Rabassa

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