My mind aches At the vision of your misty shape. The echoes of a remote afternoon Fly to my bossom To stay with me tonight, Till the morrow of a neverending death.
Mis pesadillas Por la visión de tu figura en la niebla Los ecos de una lejana tarde Revoloteando por mi torso Quedate a pasar esta noche conmigo Hasta la llegada de la interminable muerte.
Quite true that mist can easily distort images as it enriches the so subjective perception of what we should be seeing. For f... sake, what a twisted boring sentence have I written, but it sounds great, doesn`t it? Hug.
A rather dreamful poem born in the mist. Congratulations.
ReplyDeleteuff...very difficult...come on, Mary
ReplyDeleteMis pesadillas
Por la visión de tu figura en la niebla
Los ecos de una lejana tarde
Revoloteando por mi torso
Quedate a pasar esta noche conmigo
Hasta la llegada de la interminable muerte.
KIsses
Quite true that mist can easily distort images as it enriches the so subjective perception of what we should be seeing.
ReplyDeleteFor f... sake, what a twisted boring sentence have I written, but it sounds great, doesn`t it?
Hug.
Thank you for your support, brother in name. Were it not for the mist I wouldn't have written this poem.
ReplyDeletemangeles: your translation sounds as if it were a different poem, and I lke it.
An existential sentence, Rocío. Not boring at all. Yoour comments are a honour for me and my newly born blog.
Thank you all, friends.
The paradox of the last line seems bright.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Oakie. We're all learning here.
ReplyDelete