Atavismo

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us--if at all--not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men

---

Gesture without motion: nuestras bocas se abrieron hace tiempo para lanzar el grito de horror de Munch. Pero la costumbre nos ha agarrotado la musculatura facial, y la expresión de horror se ha instalado permanentemente en nuestros rostros; es la banalidad del mal.

De manera que el aliento sólo nos alcanza para emitir un debil "ooohhh" de horror de andar por casa, que con el tiempo degenerará en bostezo.