The Gnosis of the Mirage and other Poems Enrique de Santiago


“Relativity makes distance meaningless, but the situation is even worse when quantum mechanics intervenes, since it questions the idea of place.”
Paul Davis.

Of the clouds contained for centuries
of the air that winds the violet knot of meaning
And of every dark shape that embraces the sound of the world
the lit line of the labyrinth emerges
contemplating ourselves immersed in this myriad of fluids
that embrace us from the beginning
and from before in its reverse reality
to end up drowned in the crack of fate
and never know what the essential source of the moon holds
nor the celestial song of the plumage found in the boreal bosom
this is how the air is thrown into being
Without measure
no understanding
while diligently it oxidizes and hastens its decline.


nothing ends,
just a keep going around in a spiral,
at the command of vector dreams,
that rest on the moon that raises the stamens,
Like the names I’ve forgotten
my own,
and the name of my destiny,
while I move hugging the clouds
with my numbers on the side of my brain
and my breath laughing again.

The astral root, acrylic on canvas 118 x 85cm


telluric resonance
with its harsh echo that stuns reason
magmatic word that arises from the refusal of the verb
black poetry on its sharp path
the one that hurts the one who goes into its mystery
with the blessed dagger of the fallen angels
that are arranged on the sidewalk of dawn
illuminated by the forgotten star
between rivers of multitude of bones
council opening submerging volcanic fire
where the salamander dances
at the right time and hour
when the word that unleashes the lightning is released
with its fractal memory
that renews the solanaceous plant
what is the mandrake of the damned
and of the saved.

Under the Luciferian influence, acrylic and ink on Conqueror 300 gm paper


From foliage ancient and forgotten,
when time was captive in the womb of time
even before the language of birds appeared,
that lost and extinct star arose,
loved from her nebula
and awaited by the early cicadas,
it was so that she sang her scrolls
and she danced the mystery of the nymphs,
hidden in the mystery of her and in the first number of her name
because this is found in the sum of the rings of a forest,
and her dress is the transmutation of the nymph
something like that, like a thousand and eighty times the face of the moon.

Winged Past, acrylic on 300 gm Canson paper, 30 x 39 cm


I love your origin from the unknown
with that particular elliptical aroma
like an elk that descended from a learned galaxy
there between the sources of light and condensed matter
close sister of the unchanging logos
the one you robbed by surprise
On the oblique ship that was hidden
with their inverted masts on the sleepwalking skins
begin to awaken from amazement
of so many days of your destiny
without knowing why ??
away from the inanimate pavement
that carries with your long steps
in the certain uncertainty
in the sacred place
that goes off
and it bares to oblivion.

Astral Watcher, acrylic on Canson 300 gm paper. 40x30cm


beyond the wind
in a northern region of the universe
an uncertain number of names
dissolved by the golden flame of oblivion
They descend from the crevice of a nebula
while the bird as watchman of the secret
sing their celestial nomenclatures
to revive them in their new sap.

Altered distance, acrylic and ink on 200 gm Canson paper. 21x28cm


The lightness of your poetry taught me to look beyond
in that place where we don’t understand each other
a room of emptiness and fullness
where there is enough space to brush your hair.

The implacable oracle, acrylic on canvas, 70 x 70 cm

NGC 6753

When a star collapses, does part of your destiny end?
Do you know the emptiness that will come in the litany of the dream of the demiurge?
Each sphere engraves its own ellipse so as not to perpetuate it
because the grass kisses the constellations
until it loses sight of its splendor
and the turn announces its sunset
like love dissolved in nothing
where the word is not perpetuated
And these verses will disappear when the screens turn off
so too the leaves yellow following the dust
Of expired stars in forgotten hells
parked in some empty universe
waiting to speak from the past
and the future.

Prehistory of the present. acrylic on canvas, 70 x 70 cm


rising winds
without becoming storms
They spring from the soul until they inhabit the shadow
that takes the lonely measure
of the one who forgets the kiss
when long ago life rocked its cocoon
unaware of his hypocrisy
looking for the fierce copper mascada
while we smell that inexorable time
that snatches the lights rapidly in the twilight
where every month is the same for everyone
and between the mist and the pit
the same efforts start
the same young people with their ideals
who see their elders leave
clinging to clothes like the smell of tobacco
and the humidity of the asphalt
every year is the same for those who do not see the clouds
but in the long run it’s the same music
fashions are fashions and your makeup is the same
and when you cry a black line tears your face
similar to the one that tears your soul
love that sucks life and releases it
leaving us exhausted for months
Until I return for another rest of life
like a pleasant and hostile embrace
and there is no way to draw life
to know how to color it
it only comes around every corner
sneaky and silent
distinguishing itself in a fissure of time
when it’s too late to decide or repent
Well, it installs, without further ado…
with his elastic suit that loses his memory
in that last station
when everyone wants to change their habit
nothing more like life
that first puff of cigarette
strange, pleasant and bitter
slight time that will end in ashes

The bodies remained weightless
next to each other
faced with the cosmic dilemma
and to the protocol of the farewell,
he perceived the aroma of the bones
while she expired her step at night
with a certain harshness
the one that evaporates with the days
slow and silent
like that subordinate hatefulness of truncated desire

The music of the spheres, acrylic on Canson paper, 250 gms. 25 x 32.5 cm


On the edge of my lithic archetypes
sweet new grass grows
that with its solemn verticality
wants to hug the moon
in serene times
like your memories
before forging the tides
and unleash the liquid of his beloved
burning oblivion
and shadow
permian knots
going down the river of oblivion
in its exact ritual.

Early Invisible, acrylic on canvas, 65 x 81 cms


Mother Earth exhaled the perfume of redemption
while the useless man and dismembered course
listened to the night without name or shadow,
in order to gain oxidizable objects,
at the midpoint of his fecal abyss,
with the emptiness left by fear
and so he names himself among the speechless faces
that day when chemical weddings were prepared
without finding for your optic cells
when the leaves of the forest fall slowly
and to my ears comes the roar of the terrestrial kiss
which is a sound to be ocher dust in solar memory
in the end of time
With its circular principle in the appointed mystery,
while third world children are murdered
to make toys that were not for them.
Before knowing the sky and the gods
she appears from the beginning taming the chords of silence
she, well, she knows the key to love in a sleeping place
and she licks the perpendicular voices of the waters
like rivers that arise from the carboniferous
she well she knows how to offer the womb
to spawn the world.

Astral fissure, oil on prepared cardboard, 60 x 45 cm

blank slate

“My soul is from another place, I am sure of it, and I intend to end up there.”

Reset the inconsequential
To restart with the fruitful

Enrique de Santiago

All poems and art ©Enrique de Santiago

Leave a Reply