It came to me at Pehuajo
from some generous hands.
It is better not to know
the return of Rosas’ bands.
On the leather and wood no mark
of rood lies on its haft.
With dreams tiger dark
the steel dreams its tiger craft
The knife dreams of a hand
to deliver it from oblivion.
But all depends on what the man
with the hand decides.
The Pehuajo dagger owes
not a single death.
For a tremendous
fate the forger forged its breadth.
Beholding it I can only forsee
a future filled with daggers
as well as swords and sabers
and other deadly forms
so many that the world draws
near the point of death,
so many that death knows
not which to choose.
Dream your easy dream
in this tranquil state
Be not impatient, blade,
Rosas returns to his estate.
- Jorge Luis Borges
