pain grows in the world all the time,
grows thirty minutes a second, step by step,
and the nature of the pain, is twice the pain
and the condition of the martyrdom, carnivorous, voracious,
is twice the pain
and the function of the purest grass, twice
and the good of being, our dolor doubled.
Never, human men,
was there so much pain in the chest, in the lapel, in the wallet,
in the glass, in the butcher's shop, in arithmetic!
Never so much painful affection,
never did the distance charge so close,
never did the fire ever
play better its role of dead cold!
Never, Mr. Minister of Health, was health
did the migraine extract so much forehead from the forehead!
Did the cabinet have in its drawer, pain,
the heart, in its drawer, pain,
the lizard, in its drawer, pain.
Misfortune grows, brother men,
faster than the machine, at ten machines, and grows
with Rousseau's livestock, with our breads;
evil grows for reasons we know not
and is a flood with its own liquids,
its own mud and its own solid cloud!
Suffering inverts positions, it acts
in that the aqueous humor is vertical
to the pavement,
the eye is seen and this ear heard,
and this ear sounds nine strokes at the hour
of lightning, and nine guffaws
at the hour of wheat, and nine female sounds
at the hour of weeping, and nine canticles
at the hour of hunger, and nine thunderclaps
and nine lashes, minus a scream.
The pain grabs us, brother men,
from behind, in profile,
and drives us wild in the movies,
nails us to the gramophones,
unnails us in bed, falls perpendicularly
onto our tickets, our letters,
and it is very serious to suffer, one might pray...
For as a result
of the pain, there are some
who are born, others grow, others die,
and others who are born and do not die, others
who die, without having been born, and others
who neither are born nor die (the majority)
And likewise as a result
of suffering, I am sad
up to my head, and sadder down to my ankle,
from seeing bread, crucified, the turnip,
the onion, crying.
cereal, in general, flour,
salt, made dust, water, fleeing.
wine, an ecce-homo,
such pallid snow, such an arduent sun!
How, human brothers,
not to tell you that I can no longer stand it and
can no longer stand so much drawer,
so much minute, so much
lizard and so much
inversion, so much distance and so much thirst for thirst!
Mr. Minister of Health: what to do?
Ah! unfortunately, human men,
there is, brothers, much too much to do.