The black Heralds

"There are blows in life, so strong... I don´t know.
Blows like from God´s hatred; like if before them
the hangover of everything we´ve lived, layed upon our soul... I don´t know.

They are few; but are... they open dark trenches
on the fiercest face and the strongest back.
They could be the colts of barbaric atilas;
or the black heralds that death send us.

They are the deep falls of soul´s Christ,
of some precious faith that luck blasphemes.
Those bloody blows are the crepitations
of a bread at the very gate of the oven, that is burning.

And Man... poor... poor! He turns his eyes, like
when over our shoulder a clap call us;
he turns his crazy eyes, and everything he´s lived
lays, like a pool of guilt, over his look.

There are blows in life, so strong... I don´t know."
--César Vallejo, The black heralds (Los heraldos negros)