Saturday, February 27, 2010

Misty anguish


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.

6 comments:

  1. A rather dreamful poem born in the mist. Congratulations.

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  2. uff...very difficult...come on, Mary

    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.


    KIsses

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  3. 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.

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  4. Thank you for your support, brother in name. Were it not for the mist I wouldn't have written this poem.

    mangeles: 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.

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  5. The paradox of the last line seems bright.

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  6. Thank you, Oakie. We're all learning here.

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