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“I prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.”

—Wislawa Szymborska

 

Devour us, daughter.

Feed yourself in our remains and swell,
rise but do not explode.
Use that new strength to keep the balance
between your walk
and the path
of those orbiting around you.

Remember where we hid the keys
and open the doors we kept shut.
You might have to break some locks.

We are not craving for you to listen,
forget our words, burn the worlds,
speak fire and demolish
or murmur peace with your flutter.
Those are matters of no importance.
Your oldest allies will betray you
and your recent enemies will grow old.
You will feel lonely in this murk,
but from far away a swarm of lights is a galaxy.
So do as you like
but remember us
together
your three blind mothers
flying as one.

Take care of your tagmas
and sharpen your flames,
circumvent, if you can, the red giants’ call.
Prepare to be ravened
but don’t despair waiting,
because
soon you will learn
if you focus on it
the time of insects
is the same as the time of stars.



Juanjo Bazán is (at least in this universe) a writer and software engineer based in Madrid, Spain, with an interest in science and poetry.  He holds science degrees in Math and Astrophysics, and got an M.A. in Creative Writing from Hotel Kafka writers' workshop.  You can find him on Twitter.
Current Issue
16 Mar 2026

The garden is the resting place of your vulnerabilities; there’s a reason you’ve left them here instead of carrying them with you. Typically you enter hardened and hurried, beelining straight for the correct plot and quickly releasing whatever is clutched in your hand without a second thought—today, an attempted weaving of leather and lace, strength and suppleness that your body cannot figure out how to wear, nor your words to narrate.
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