I, Borges

I, Borges
By Carlos Duguech
I look like those others whom I do not see.
They are so many that I lose count.
Only voices, voices only, a fleeting
life, sounds. I just think
I am as vital as a fluttering bird.
I wander in an unknown and badly injured
vastness of the heavens in a defeated combat
of distant stars, the zenith
of a dance that ignores my sleepless nights:
navigator of languages, ignorant
at once of the color of those skies,
of the meanings, of what is real,
I fumble blindly calling myself “the wanderer”
until the day that Borges will be “the corpse”.
Carlos Duguech is an Argentinian poet. The poem was translated by Fortuna Calvo-Roth.