A poem about torture

Days of torture
By Joseba Sarrionandia. Original title: "Tortura egunak"

Spanish policemen in the Basque Country
are imprisoning even pieces of fog
to jail them inside the eleventh circle of hell.
The boy who has been catched with anything
remembers the narration by a tortured friend,
another does not even know why he has been detained,
and nobody can, while being brought in across the doors,
make a proper calculation of the suffering that has just arrived.
What is the pain that crushes me against the wall?
the boy will ask himself.
What is this gap made of stone? And the answer
will be a treaty on the metaphisics of the purple colour,
in a dead speech, in the floggers' shadows.
Thus, approximately: blood will erase your face,
blind birds will surround you, your meat
will leave you and the dwarf butchers
will build a cathedral of ash using bricks made of your body,
and your life will be your fiction
on each day that is an aspect of eternity.
In the classics of Dialectical Materialism it was not revealed
that, in torture, in the most individual way,
the man becomes a self-epilogue.