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by Ariel Dorfman

for the families of Francisco Gomes de Medeiros, Alfredo Villatoro and Regina Martínez

Though it be the last word I write, my love,
though it be the last, the last, the last of them all,
though it be my last word, my love,
your last word,
the last word of mine you read, my love,
the last breath heard
that I live and breathe,
I will not cease, my love,
we will not allow
unsaintly death
to increase its malignant undertow.

This is my house, your sainted land,
our line of last and sweet defence,
my word as the closing quiet blow
against war’s outraging violence,
though it be the last I write, my love,
the last, the last, the last word
I breathe, however small,
however distant what you read,
whispering against death, unsaintly and insane,
only truth, this truth so marginal,
my defiant and final defence
of our earth as it turns,
this word,
though it be the last
though it be the last word,
though it be the last word I ever write, my love,
my bread, my body, my family, my land,
though it be my last birth,
though it be the last, my love,
though it be
though it be
though it be
the last window
of our house as it burns.

Spanish