Corona

April 08, 2020

Corona

(La romeria de San Isidro) A Pilgrimage to San Isidro, Francisco Goya, 1819-1823

I've come, I'm here,
from the dark depths unseen.

Such were the cries and wails that announced me -
an orchestra, a cacophony.
To that howl, on the blood-drenched walls, the flies danced and swarm;
until then, within the entrails of many a game I lay warm.
I bid my time.

Now at last I've sewed my shroud,
toiled, pricked, poked and ploughed
into my skin I've weaved and hemmed,
threads of acids - tessellate bejewelled.
I took my time.

I am now complete, this marvel that I am.
I wear my crown and step into the crowd.
Such were the gasps, the rackety coughs
that beheld me - an orchestra, a cacophony.
I graced many a hands, hugged many a shoulders,
I kissed many a cheeks, I danced.
I hobbled and tittered.
My crown scintillates in the frosty winter's Sun.

I've come, I'm here.
A phantom, an apparition,
I am the ghost who walks past unseen.

On this journey, I've travelled to be.
It is my Prince, my pauper, who I've come to see.
the rich, the poor - none matter to me.

There's neither sight of famine nor war on land; and yet
I've made you hoard the last crumbs of bread; guarding you stand.
I've made you miss your family and your friend.
I've made you think the dark days of your end.
I have found my time.

I hear no laughter, no litany,
I hear neither chatter, nor your cities' bustle and rumble.
Such are the sweet-nothings I hear - your drowning gurgle
and the raspy gasps for sweet air - an orchestra, my symphony.

I've imprisoned you in your comforts,
I've brought you to your knees.
I've come after all, I'm here.
I am a chance - do take my hand:
don't you recognise me? Your every depravity I embody.