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God, listen to me - Dios, escúchame
Church of Uquía, Jujuy Province, in the north of Argentina.
Uquía: Small and old population of the Quebrada de Humahuaca, whose inhabitants are engaged mainly in farming.
All rights reserved. No photoshop, not digital.
Poema del escritor argentino Jorge Luis Borges.
Para una versión del "I Ching"
El porvenir es tan irrevocable
Como el rígido ayer. No hay una cosa
Que no sea una letra silenciosa
De la eternal escritura indescrifrable
Cuyo libro es el tiempo. Quien se aleja
De su casa ya ha vuelto. Nuestra vida
Es la senda futura y recorrida.
Nada nos dice adiós. Nada nos deja.
No te rindas. La ergástula es oscura,
La firme trama es de incesante hierro,
Pero en algún recodo de tu encierro
Puede haber un descuido, una hendidura,
El camino es fatal como la flecha
Pero en las grietas está Dios, que acecha.
Poem of Jorge Luis Borges, argentinian writer.
For a Version of "I Ching"
The imminent is as immutable
As rigid yesterday. There is no matter
That rates more than a single, silent letter
In the eternal and inscrutable
Writing whose book in time. He who believes
He’s left his home already has come back.
Life is a future and well-traveled track.
Nothing dismisses us. Nothing leaves.
Do not give up. The prison is bereft
Of light, its fabric is incessant iron,
But in some corner of your mean environs
You might discover a mistake, a cleft.
The road is fatal as an arrow’s flight
But God is watching in the narrowest light.
Jorge Luis Borges (trans. by Eric McHenry)
God, listen to me - Dios, escúchame
Church of Uquía, Jujuy Province, in the north of Argentina.
Uquía: Small and old population of the Quebrada de Humahuaca, whose inhabitants are engaged mainly in farming.
All rights reserved. No photoshop, not digital.
Poema del escritor argentino Jorge Luis Borges.
Para una versión del "I Ching"
El porvenir es tan irrevocable
Como el rígido ayer. No hay una cosa
Que no sea una letra silenciosa
De la eternal escritura indescrifrable
Cuyo libro es el tiempo. Quien se aleja
De su casa ya ha vuelto. Nuestra vida
Es la senda futura y recorrida.
Nada nos dice adiós. Nada nos deja.
No te rindas. La ergástula es oscura,
La firme trama es de incesante hierro,
Pero en algún recodo de tu encierro
Puede haber un descuido, una hendidura,
El camino es fatal como la flecha
Pero en las grietas está Dios, que acecha.
Poem of Jorge Luis Borges, argentinian writer.
For a Version of "I Ching"
The imminent is as immutable
As rigid yesterday. There is no matter
That rates more than a single, silent letter
In the eternal and inscrutable
Writing whose book in time. He who believes
He’s left his home already has come back.
Life is a future and well-traveled track.
Nothing dismisses us. Nothing leaves.
Do not give up. The prison is bereft
Of light, its fabric is incessant iron,
But in some corner of your mean environs
You might discover a mistake, a cleft.
The road is fatal as an arrow’s flight
But God is watching in the narrowest light.
Jorge Luis Borges (trans. by Eric McHenry)