INSOMNIA
Madrid is a city of more than a million dead (according to recent statistics). Sometimes at night I wallow and sit in this niche that 45 years ago that I rot, and spent long hours Hurricane hearing moaning, or barking dogs, or flowing gently in the light of the moon. And I spend long hours as Hurricane moaning, barking like an angry dog, flowing like hot milk from the udder of a large yellow cow. And I spend long hours asking God, asking why my soul slowly rot, rot why more than a million corpses in the city of Madrid, why billions of corpses rotting slowly in the world. Tell me, what garden you want to pay with our decay? Do you fear that you dry the great roses of the day, the sad lethal lilies of your nights? Awesome poem
existential writer and Cervantes prize, Damaso Alonso, clearly influenced by the situation after the war.
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