Classic Poem

A person has
two faces.

On the head, eyes, a nose, and a mouth,
on the body,
another set of eyes, a nose, and a mouth
(This set, since some time in the past, has remained concealed)

The two breasts are
unseeing eyes;
the blind one knows
that though unseen, something is there.

What is there
she tries to make sure, touching them.
One day
at the joy and sorrow of what she made sure
the woman's eyes became moist,
she shed white tears endlessly.

A child who grows with white tears.

The tiny dent in the middle of the belly
is the primeval nose,
which in remote days, from its mother's womb,
sucked up mysterious things.
From there blew in
smells of flowers,
fragrances of tides,
the winds and the light.
The nose has those first memories
deeply tucked
in its soft folds.

Below the nose, a grass bush,
a woman, or a man,
has ferns growing around an old marsh,
beneath the ferns insects chirp,
many tongues flare.

The tongues know
of the good food about to be arranged
on the sea-like table:

fruits
rare in any country,
resplendent dinner
no cook knows how to make,
liquors of fire.

People the world over
throw away all their clothes
and go to the table.

The festival of the blind,
drums of the festival,
bonfires without heat, without color.