Maya Islas
Poems from the
Book of Revelations.
Book # 1
The Seven Stars
Rev. 1:20
In my codes, people move like words retold.
Hear the hurt of my captivity
when the Island of Patmos
became the body of a woman.
John wanted to leave on earth
poems and horses,
knives cutting the reality of things,
but the silence,
bended and recessed,
left space between the stars,
breathing like a pounding heart
seen from beneath.
Since then,
I am waiting for the resurrection of the horses,
and the seven deaths
they will deliver.
Book # 2
The Unopened Book
Rev. 5:1
Air is the only thing I know:
bitter and shapeless;
wires push my freedom against the walls
when my glance fights
to find the house of salvation.
A book becomes Babylon,
and my arrow falls
unveiling the flesh of those
who return and melt
in front of the sun.
Book # 3
The Seals
Rev. 6:1
A line of dreams,
shattered heavens,
and deserts,
divides the soil.
I am the bride
who hides within this rhapsody of fingers,
crawling upon the windows of the eye
and the aloneness of the tongue.
The city perishes
and I have seen the holy place
among the books that measure
the wheat of revelation.
I cry more than ever
over this monument of mine
that rushes, as it is,
towards the dust.
Book # 4
The Angel and the Little Book
Rev. 10:2
It is the seventh day
and nakedness is violently breaking.
My flesh contains the voice of illusions
a thousand times.
I am the strength
that frames the eyes inside the angel's wing.
I have stopped breathing.
Book # 5
Sweet like Honey
Rev. 10:10
The woman,
who is the voice of the bird,
will inwardly appear
to nourish from whatever is left of time,
swallowing the rivers
in a glass of water.
Book # 6
Crown of Gold
Rev. 14:14
A thousand days will deliver
the dance of the earth.
Any warrior can see
this image in my eye
fading between the inner reflections of its neurons.
A golden thread has killed the song of John,
vertical and transparent
mystery hastes towards mercy
with that kind of smile
that comes forth from the face of a clown.
Book # 7
The Book of Life
Rev. 17:8
This is the day
that surely will serve the earth.
I hear the whirling sound of nails
thrown at my face,
but I,
the horsewoman,
rides with everlasting strength,
glancing at time,
scattered among the battles of the enemies.
Maya Islas