Ephphatha (2023)

 

Photography by Carlos Vicéns (2025)

Ephphatha

It happens that I grow tired of being Elvis,

a faded icon,

of the hairstyles, the chanting,

the green carpets lost in oblivion.

I grow tired of this being that I am,

of the vastness that points

to the firmament filled with lights,

endless poetry, one that never fades.

It happens that immensity,

an ancient colonial stain,

is a constant rupture of the tongue,

simple, native, and alive.

Astute in the aesthetics of discourse,

without metaliterature, edges

undefined,

of lines,

cohabitations in tenderness.

A cunning spirit,

half-pop, distorted in the stationary RV.

I grow tired of eating canned sausages,

of fragmented hatred and salt on the calendar.

I wonder about your garden, your flowers,

the pots and contraptions.

Let us return to the station where we first met.

I grow tired of being ephemeral

and surrender myself to the sacred word

in divine verses.

“Distant” from all anarchic acts,

poet and sinner alike,

documenting this testimony in forms.

It happens that I always grow weary after twilight.

From so much exhaustion,

I organized my rage

on my knees

and spoke to myself

before the image I saw

in the depths of the well.

Thus, my poetry was born,

my armor,

my faith in you,

for despite my weariness,

you sustain me.

-Elvis Rafael

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