The writings left behind by those whom
Your fears implore won’t have to save you.
You are not the others and you see yourself
Now at the center of the labyrinth woven by your own steps.
The agonies of Jesus or Socrates will not save you,
nor will the Strength of Golden Siddhartha who,
At the end of the day,
accepted death In the garden.
The word written By your hand or the verb spoken By your lips,
these too are dust.
Fate has no pity,
And God’s night is infinite.
Your matter is time, ceaseless Time.
You are each solitary moment.
——Jorge Luis Borges 《You are Not the Others》
两个美人









