This veil

Your mind awakes in the year 5009 BC in the depths of a forest of the Island Flores, near to Komodo
your jeans are all stained with savia and mud

there's something to explain? Do you think there's something to be explained? 

Many times the meaning is in the form, deformed
because some many times the answer lies behind this veil
where you are torturer and tortured
judge and accused






already seen! Already seen! 
Says this sense of deja vu through your back brain
because some many times the lies answer behind your veil.














From certain distance, into the dense foliage something is seen, moving, like a small human

not a human? Is not a human? -you wonder.

And disappears
with furious velocity into the thickness of the jungle disappears -you lie occult among the trees, still fallen on the ground


200 metres to your left five or six violet-like humans appear into the hazardous of the jungles

the atmosphere is excessive for you, everything is abysmal and humid, you are thirsty and hungry
so far away from that thing called home.

As they walk deeper through the vegetation, eyes see them passing by, in silence from behind the rotting logs, from holes under the ground, in the land
eyes beholding them
eyes that never have been seen by the human consciously.

The evening lingers on but slowly the night is turning up when you stand up benumbed and start walking disoriented

as a feeling invades your inner sensors, as if you were walking into your self, those humans realize they are lost into that continent of trees and dirty fog
taken by their astonished eyes and a curiosity
taken, taken further, where they could be?
Where are you?

As the night appears and the pink day flies away
as the scene in the jungles is changing furtively, so furtively that you cannot even realize
as your hair falls in greasy abandon on your shoulders

something cracks slightly there and the humans look in that direction
you look in that direction
but in the black of the night nothing is seen.


And at the hour when the eyelash grows you reach the exit of that forestal Gordian knot

a flat prairie opens its blue surface to your eyes under a cruel moonlight and your Nike's advance in the direction of the star surrounded by the mosquitoes

that star which shines plateada y única over your head and memory.


So it was at the seventh hour of your labyrinth when a voice -somehow familiar, somehow distant- talked in your ear

"The hardest is the easiest, the more hidden, the clearer
the opposite is akin, the unreachable is in your hand."



Because at the agitational of the seventh hour that mouth spoke in your ear

in open lips and a luminescence that made you open your eyes to the luminescence of the daylight in your room




down your corner, through the window, where your street becomes flat and long like a sunset 
-at the sunrise, like a sunset, behind this veil-
strangers walk by toward their anonymous encounters, iPod, rucksack and this loss of today.