EL ULTIMO AMOR | THE LAST LOVE


EL ULTIMO AMOR

Hace cien años y un poco más, en 1894, escribí un libro. Una novela - EL ULTIMO AMOR. Pero, en ese entonces, no pude leer el escrito final. Ella, La Muerte, lasciva y seductora, se avalanzó sobre mi, me arrastró con ella, mientras el clamor de los paseantes y algunos testigos entonaban la frase:

_ "¡Figuraos que le ha atravesado el corazón...!" resonó en mis oídos como un último recuerdo.

Hoy, cuando se vislumbra la primera lluvia de otoño, irrumpiendo mi sosiego, el cartero me ha entregado un sobre proveniente de tierras lejanas. Y en su interior, entre aromas de jazmines y frescas madreselvas, un minúsculo libro, ya envejecido.

No hay notas ni señas del remitente...

No obstante, al hojear las tersas hojas del librito, ellas aparentemente han acogido 'In Fraganti" un montón de frases y parráfos lanzados al aire con su aliento y su fragancia. Tal vez, "Ella" se apiadó de mí.

Cualquiera sea la intencíón - entre la vanidad de su suspiro y el desvanecimiento de mi voz - trataré de leerlo antes de pasar mi último invierno en la tierra. Pues he decidido dormirme en la nieve entre los fríos copos de nieve, caminando a mi encuentro con la eternidad.

Será, ésta vez, un paseo infinito bajo la luz de la luna llena.

_ "Y, lanzando una carcajada espantosa, salió corriendo de aquella casa, en donde en tan corto espacio de tiempo, había encontrado la vida la muerte."

[Words and Photography by Alfonso A.Tobar]

THE LAST LOVE

A hundred years ago and probably, a little bit more, in 1894 I wrote a book. A novel - THE LAST LOVE. But, at that time, I was unable to read the final proofread version. She, Death, playful and seductive, went over me, dragged me along while the surrounding crowd, pedestrians, and witnesses shouted it at loud:

"She has pierced him his heart...!" echoing finally in my ears as the last souvenir of my life.

Today, when I might barely enjoy the first drizzle of autumn, breaking my quietness, the postman has given me an envelope which came from faraway lands. Its contents, scented with jasmines and fresh honeysuckle, a little old book.

There are no notes or names from the sender...

Nevertheless, in browsing the soft and yellowish leaves of such a book, apparently and 'In Fraganti"'they have captured a bunch of phrases and paragraphs thrown into the air with Her breath and fragrance. I believe She might have had some pity on me.

Whatever Her intention is - between the vanity of her whim and my fading voice - I will try to read it through before I spend my last winter on this land, on the earth. Well, I have decided to fall asleep in the winter snow while the snowflakes cover my face as I walk towards eternity.

This time, it will be an infinite walk under the full moon light.

"And with a frightful laugh, he ran out from that house, where in such a short space of time, Life had found Death.


Alfonso A. Tobar