sábado, 6 de marzo de 2010

In the time of God


My love,
when all of this is past
and we can walk free
holding hands
-without accusing fingers
nor looks of horror-
Take me to the sea.
-Promise old man-
I want to kiss your forehead looking at the sea
to cure with the salts of the universe
the wounds of this fate.
Carry to the sea my offerings of pain…
The unfortunate papyrus of my face
abandon it to the crested waves which loved me…
your green smell of the sea.
Is there still a teen-age love…
Living love-I know-
We will cry the wait together,
the cruel distance
the infinitude of the bodies which accompanied us
the freed days.
They’ll say we’re some crazy old people,
that its cheesy to cry in old age,
that no one cries time.

It will be none the less a happy weeping.

The happiest of our existence.

-Promise old man,
promise.-
Written by Andira Watson (original version in Spanish)

Translated by Jason Paul

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