I curse, in sky-high,
the star and its reflections.
I curse the tiles
flashing on the stream.
I curse, in the under ground,
the stone with its contour,
I curse the furnace's fire
because my soul is mourning.
I curse the statutes of time
with their embarrassments.
How big is my pain…
I curse the Cordillera
de los Andes and the Coast's.
I curse, Lord, this narrow
and long piece of land.
Peace and war, too,
what's frank and what's volatile,
I curse what's perfumed
because my desire is dead.
I curse everything that's true
and what's false and what's doubtful.
How big is my pain…
I curse the Spring
with its gardens in bloom
and the Autumn's color,
I truly curse it.
That passing cloud,
I curse it so much,
and since it aids my grief
I curse the whole winter.
With the liar Summer,
I curse whats profane and holy.
How big is my pain…
I curse the lonely
flag figure,
I curse any emblem,
the venus and the Araucaria,
the canary's song,
the cosmos and its planets,
the earth and all its cracks
because I'm in sorrow.
I curse, in the wide sea,
its ports and coves.
How big is my pain…
I curse the moon and the landscape,
the valleys and deserts,
I curse each dead man,
and those alive, from king to pawn.
The bird and its feathers
I curse them with obstinacy,
The classrooms, the sacristies,
because I'm hurt.
I curse the word "love"
with all its bullshit.
How big is my pain…
At last, I curse what's white,
what's black and what's yellow.
Bishops and altar boys,
ministers and preachers.
I curse them, crying,
what's free and what's enslaved.
What's sweet and what's quarrelsome,
I give them my curse.
In greek and in spanish
because of a betrayer.
How big is my pain...