The Moth by Alejandro Ayala Polanco
Ilustrations by Loreto Matthews
The Moth
by Alejandro Ayala Polanco (c) 2010, Alejandro Ayala Polanco ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author. Ilustrations by: Loreto Matthews Translated by: Valentina Vergara
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Author’s Preface Years ago I had the chance to share this experience in front of the audience for the first time. Until then it was a beloved memory, so precious and deep, as the mute shadow of an ancestor. I still remember every detail of the struggle where that moth held to her life; her wings trying to retain the wind, the continuous rise and fall of her body, the nervous agitation of her antennas. Since the very first second, I knew that I had been entrusted with an invaluable gift; one of the many ones that we are offered day to day and that we tend to ignore. Anyone who knows how to see the universal in the little things will be able to perceive the clinging of the little moth to her life, a common desire to every sentient being, human or not. Many years had to pass for me to dare write this experience. And eventhough I feel that lessons of life and respect like this one may only be transmitted through the unpronounceable language of the leaf and root, I still hope that this humble poem will encourage more than one person to value life’s gift beyond form and species.
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The Moth
I was looking through the cabin’s balcony, spying as always the rhythm of the branches, the impermanent design of the shadows on the stream. I will never forget, that over the wooden balcony, a dying moth was moving her wings with anguish.
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The Moth
She wanted to fly but her feet took roots and from the floor they were pulling her. Her wings, which once taught her to be free, were now her prison.
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The Moth
Soon it was hard for her to stay on her feet. Again and again her head remained hidden, her feet bent, her wings spread like a burial cloth. Again and again, no matter how hard it was to rise, her wings trembled in an impossible aim. I will never forget that the moth clung like us to her freedom and her life.
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The Moth
Flying was her dawn, flying was her noon, flying was her dusk.
She just stopped trying as she was unable to raise her head. The ticking of her antennas gave notice that she was still fightin I will never forget that the moth never accepted her death.
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The Moth
From the stream, through a rhythm of branches and seeds, An imperceptible chant ascended. Loved flight and moth became one forever. Mosaics of shadow, spiked vegetable figures, crawled silently through the grass.
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The Moth
I will never forget the last seconds of life of a moth.
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The Moth by Alejandro Ayala Polanco
Ilustrations by Loreto Matthews
Homo Vegetus The Moth is a poem about the value of life in all sentient beings. Contact: supervegano@gmail.com For more information visit: semillasveganas.blogspot.com www.homovegetus.cl